


Magic and Endurance

by duh_stiel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cinderella, Angst, Fluff, Illness, Innocent!Steve, Loki Thor and Odin are the stepfamily, M/M, Mild Abuse, Minor Character Death, Pre!War Bucky, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Tony is a fairy godfather, cliffhanger ending, everyone is a little ooc, spoiler: Steve doesn't die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-14 16:23:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11786934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duh_stiel/pseuds/duh_stiel
Summary: "Hear ye! Hear ye!Know that on this day our new king here by declares his loveFor the mysterious blonde bachelor as wore white satin glovesand who called himself Steven.And requests that he presents himself at the palace immediately,Whereupon, if he be willing, his royal majesty shall forthwith marry him."--Trigger warnings include slow beginnings and cliches. ;)





	1. Act I

**Author's Note:**

> Hear ye, hear ye!
> 
> Please bear with me, guys. I think this fic is decent, but it's also my first time publishing anything besides <1k shitty Avenger's preferences.

Check out the [art ](http://instagrims.tumblr.com/post/164440430402/always-be-brave-true-and-kind-my-darling-for) and [playlist](http://instagrims.tumblr.com/post/164440428917/magic-and-kindness-a-playlist-inspired-by) by [instagrims](http://www.instagrims.tumblr.com)!!

♕

From infancy, Steven Grant Rogers looked at the world and saw only the kindness in others’ hearts and magic in the simplest things. Steven and his parents resided in a large estate on with a meadow on the forest’s edge, and to Steven, it was their own private kingdom. It was, the territory that defined the majority of his childhood, due to the numerous diseases that plagued him and caused his weak immune system. Do to his fragile nature, Steven was prevented the same simple pleasures that most children had, like playing and exploring with others his age. Although he did not have many friends in the traditional sense, he did have some unconventional ones; Steven’s mother would often find him in the garden or meadow, playing with the animals that also called the meadow their home.

 

The young boy reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small piece of cheese that he had snuck out of the kitchen. He was sitting atop a blanket that he had taken from the house, along with a tea set and a miniature picnic basket. “Here you are, Clinton,” he said, handing the scrap to one of the house mice sitting in front of him. This was only one of many picnics in the meadow that Steven held for all of his friends. “Be sure to share with Natasha.” Steven gestured to the other house-mouse, adding, “Don’t be selfish.” With an air of irritation, the mouse tore off a section of cheese and handed it to the one next to him. Bruce, the family dog, bent down to sniff the smaller creatures, he looked back up to the boy and whined.

 

“Don’t worry, silly doggy, I have something for you too!” Steven said excitedly. Reaching into the basket, he pulled out a piece of ham swiped from the kitchen the previous night. The dog ate it up quickly and lay down, his lazy eyes following a robin that had flown down onto the blanket.  The robin hopped around, it looked at Steven curiously, as if expecting something as well.

 

Of course, Steven recognized the bird and knew it well; it was one of the ones who frequented the estate. Its mother was killed when it was just a hatchling, and Steven helped raise her and her brother until they were old enough to fly. “Why, hello, Wanda,” he greeted. “And Pietro,” he added when her brother landed next to her. “I was hoping you’d come.” Reaching into the picnic basket, he pulled out a piece of bread and set it between the two birds.

 

As the mice happily squeaked away at each other, Bruce rested his eyes, and the twin birds pecked away at their bread, Steven reached into the basket to finally pull out his own meal.

He failed to notice the woman creeping up behind him, and though all of the animals did see, they weren’t shocked or scared because it was a familiar face. Steven’s mother carefully tiptoed up the hill then, when she was close enough, grabbed her son’s sides.

 

Steven giggled hysterically as his mother tickled his sides relentlessly, rolling onto the grass in an attempt to get away. “Mother, please,” he choked out between fits of laughter. Although he was begging for his mother to stop, he wasn’t miserable at all. In fact, he was having an excellent. Eventually, his mother did still her hands, careful of Steven’s asthma, knowing if he became too breathless it risked an attack.

 

Sarah sat back on the blanket, tucking her legs underneath her skirt. “And what are we doing here?” she inquired, affectionately smoothing back her son’s messed hair.

 

“I’m having a picnic!” Steven exclaimed. “You could join if you’d like, Mama. We could share my portion. Clinton and Natasha are sharing cheese, and Pietro and Wanda are sharing bread. Bruce gets his own meat though since he’s so big.” He said all of this in rapid-fire, almost running out of breath. The mice, meanwhile, squeaked at each other and tilted their heads at Steven, and the birds tweeted away, paying no attention to him. It was okay, though, as he knew that the animals always played dumb around other people.

 

       “Do you still think they can understand you, darling?” Steven’s mother asked. She often observed Steven talking to the little creatures, inside and out of the house.

 

“Mhm! Don’t you, Mother?”

 

“Of course, Steven. They can talk to us and understand if only we try to listen,” She paused and looked between the animals and her son, “which is why it’s our job to take care of them.”

 

“And what about us?”

 

Sarah quirked her head slightly to the side.

 

“Who takes care of us?” Steven clarified, sitting up on his knees excitedly.

 

She smiled and laughed at her son’s excitement. “Fairy-godparents, of course.”

 

Steven’s brows furrowed together, “but those are just fairy tales, aren’t they?”

 

“Only if you believe they are.”

 

“So magic is real too, mama?”

 

“If you believe it is.”

 

Steven sat back on his haunches, thinking deeply about their conversation. He nodded decisively. “I believe.”

  


♕

  


Although the day had come about sooner than Steven expected, he wasn’t any more excited or unprepared as he was nervous about the change. He cherished his time alone with his mother and the staff–who had become more like family– and he had prepared himself for the possibility that time would decrease or diminish completely. He wasn’t going to protest, nor was he going to complain, because his mother always put his happiness first. Why should he do any less for her?

 

When the time came, Steven was curled up in the alcove of the study with his sketchbook, his dog, Bruce, at his feet. He had sketched the same scene time and time again, but in this iteration something was different: a carriage was riding over the hill in the distance. That road rarely got any traffic, so it was almost guaranteed to be his new family. A feeling of sudden anxiety settled into his stomach, and he immersed himself further into his drawing as the carriage dipped into the valley and fell out of view.

 

Unfortunately, time passed too quickly, and he soon noticed his mother standing opposite him in the doorway. "They're nearly here darling, come along." The dog stirred as Steven rose from his position, taking his mother's hand. They both walked to the entryway, silhouetting themselves against the open front door.

 

The veranda and doorway that lead into the magnificent house were spectacles all their own. The midnight blue doors had stained glass windows in the top two panels, and the classic square indents were accented by the surprisingly elaborate and intricate flourishes Steven had added with his carving knife when he was a child. The small landing was shaded by an awning with the same coloring as the door, held up by two columns that framed the doorway.

 

Sarah’s hand was still grasping her son’s hand when she saw the carriage round its way into the circular path. She squeezed his hand tightly and leaned in close, kissing him on the top of his head. “Be brave, true, and kind, my darling--" she began, but because she had repeated it so many times, Steven finished.

 

“For when those things are present, magic follows. I know, Mother.” He paused, looking up at her. He admired this woman with all of his beings. As much as she tried to keep him sheltered and protected from the influences of the outside world, he knew what went on; he was aware of what happened with his father. He also knew how brave and strong his mother was and he aspired to be exactly that, and exactly what she wanted him to be.

 

Again, she kissed the top of his head. “I love you,” she murmured, but before Steven could respond, one of the horses whinnied, and the carriage slowed to a stop. It was an intimidating dark slate gray color, with navy blue accent flourishes around the door. Black curtains covered the majority of the windows. The large wheels and coachman's seat were black as well. The stocky coachman was already down on the ground, opening the door for Steven’s new family; he moved quickly and fidgeted when they exited, avoiding eye contact.

 

The first to emerge was a blonde boy. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen, although he certainly didn’t look like it, as he was near twice the size of Steven. His golden locks were pulled back and tied with a red ribbon, and his bulky and muscular frame was nearly too large for his beige shirt and scarlet vest. He jumped from the carriage and stretched dramatically.

 

Next came a younger boy, nearly the polar opposite of his brother. He stepped out gracefully and carried himself with more poise than his older brother. His long raven black hair tied back with a dark emerald green ribbon contrasted with his alabaster skin. His piercing green eyes glanced at the Rogers and moved on. Standing next to his brother, he adjusted the sleeves on his tan shirt and pulled at the tight collar of his vest, which matched the green of the ribbon in his hair. Even at the ag,e he was, he gave off an intimidating aura.

 

Last to emerge from the carriage was Steven’s new stepfather. He looked more like his first son and nothing like his second. He was dressed more formally than the boys, wearing a black waistcoat, tan trousers, and a boysenberry-colored shirt. He had long graying hair tied back into a ponytail similar to his sons. He looked much too old for Sarah, whose blonde curls were just barely starting to gray. His eyepatch was a visible sign of his involvement in the war, but it did not seem to bother him as it was made from fine leather and appeared to fit him well enough.

 

As Steven followed his mother forward to greet them, he noticed the older brother elbow his younger one, laughing as he got an annoyed reaction. They stopped in front of the father, who reached out to grasp Sarah’s hand loosely, pressing a kiss to the back of it. An uneasy feeling settled in Steven’s stomach, but he attributed it to his nerves in an unfamiliar situation.

 

“M’lady. May I introduce my two sons, Thor and Loki.” He gestured to the eldest first. Thor inclined his head forwards slightly, then continued to pester his brother. Loki did the same and sidestepped to avoid the unwanted attention. “And this must be your son-”

 

Steven stepped from behind his mother. He was confident and brave enough to introduce himself without assistance. “Steven, sir,” he said, bowing slightly at the waist toward his stepfather and nodding his head toward the brothers.

 

“Steven,” his stepfather repeated. “How… intelligible.”

 

“This is Lord Odin,” Sarah said.

 

“Pleasure,” Steven said, and then walked over to where the brothers were arguing. He waited for them to notice him and then spoke, “It’s lovely to meet you two. I’m Steven--”

 

Loki almost sneered. “Yes, so we’ve heard.”

 

Thor chuckled, and Steven recoiled slightly from the sheer volume, then straightened up his posture back to look more confident and comfortable. "Would you two like a tour of the estate?" he offered, gesturing towards the open front doors.

 

Thor looked puzzled for a moment and turned to his brother. "What did he say?"

 

Loki eyed the house up and down, before turning to his brother and very clearly responding, "I believe he wants to show us his farm house. He's proud of it, I think." Thor laughed again, no quieter than the last time.

 

Thor and Loki rushed inside without any invitation, Steven following behind at a slower pace. He attempted to get ahead of brothers so he could give a proper tour, but soon realized his efforts to be futile, and instead showed them wherever they went occasionally stopping, to politely answer an ill-intentioned question from Loki while Thor boomed in laughter. Although this whole situation and his new brothers were barely tolerable, Steven put on a brave face for his mother. Eventually, they traveled up the stairs of the home and Steven showed the brothers their new room.

 

He pushed open the double doors. “And here’s your room,” Steven announced, gesturing around. It wasn’t the largest bedroom--that belonged to his mother, and the second largest naturally went to Steven--but it wasn’t small in the least. It had high, raised ceilings and an alcove and window overlooking the back of the property. Plus it even had its own private restroom attached. The full-size beds sat no less than two meters apart, and each boy had his own wardrobe and dresser.

 

    “You expect us to share this tiny thing?!” Thor exclaimed. Steven was a bit taken aback by the sudden thundering of his voice, still not quite used to it.

 

Loki stepped forward from where he was behind his brother. “I believe,” he shot a glare in Thor’s direction, “what he meant to say was that we’ve never been... confined to such a small space and would like a larger room.”

 

Steven internally scoffed, and almost said this isn’t an inn, but his mother’s reminder of kindness prevented him from doing so. Instead, he said, “This is the only available room in the house. I think it’ll prove to be bigger than it seems.” He added a sincere smile at the end. It’s not like he wanted his stepbrothers to be uncomfortable and miserable in their new home; he genuinely hoped that they would grow to like it there. Before anymore conversation could be made, Steven heard his mother call them for supper.

 

“Can we please keep the screaming to a minimum? I do have a splitting headache.” Odin griped from his seat at the dining table.

 

“Apologies,” Sarah said, setting his drink before him. She was well-versed in the area of migraines as both she and Steven had them often. “I could get you a cold compress if you desire one.”

 

The gray-haired man rolled his eyes. “Why would you get it if you have hired help to do so for you?”

 

She resisted the urge to chuckle. “Why would I ask someone else to do something I’m fully capable of doing?”

 

   The boys entered the room; Thor barrelled in first, then Loki, followed by Steven trailing behind at a moderate pace.

 

Sarah let her new husband sit at the head of the table, of course, even though that’s where she always sat after Joseph had passed. She sat opposite him at the other end. Steven had always sat to the right of the head, but as he went to sit down, Thor sat there, then Loki across from him. Steven wasn’t disappointed, nor offended, though; he went to sit at the right of his mother, next to Loki. There was only one empty seat to the left of Sarah because the dining table could be adjusted for the number of guests being seated. Sarah had had the staff help her adjust it to the smallest setting.

 

Just a few short years ago, Steven would have seen his own father sitting at the head of the table, and as of recently, that’s where his mother sat. He knew it was proper as he watched his new stepfather sit down in the oak chair at the head of the table. The feeling came on suddenly, but as he watched his mother take her seat at the opposite end of Odin, Steven felt more alien in his home than he ever had before. Steven took place to the right of his mother, next to Loki, who was just as intimidating in the neighboring seat as he was when touring a house.

 

Under the table, his mother’s hand grasped Steven’s loosely, squeezing it in a comforting gesture.  Perhaps if things stayed like this, they’d be alright.

 

Things didn’t stay like that.

  


♕

  


Twelve-year old Steven had disregarded the doctor's recommendation; his mom shouldn’t have had any visitors, especially a child with a weak of an immune system as he had. He took all the precautions he could, though and wore a mask on his face in an attempt to protect himself.    The doctor told Steven that tuberculosis would tire her out relentlessly, and that proved to be true when she began sleeping nearly every moment she was not coughing.

 

Steven stayed by her side for weeks, slowly watching her condition decline, only leaving her bedside for necessities. He sat in one of the plush lounge chairs so he could sleep by her side, in case she needed anything.

 

One late evening, he was snoozing off and on as his mother slept. He awoke to the sound of his name being called softly. Standing, he walked over and knelt at his mother’s bedside, taking her hand in his. His hands may have been thin and delicate, but they were strong compared to his mother’s weak, frail hands that he held onto.

 

He noticed that Sarah was attempting to push a box across the duvet, unable to lift it. He took it, with a look of slight confusion. “What’s this, mama?” Steven asked

 

It was red oak, thick and well made. Black hinges connected the lid to the box, and on the top were two initials, SR and JR, his parents.

 

“Letters,” She said, smiling both sadly and fondly down at the box. Her voice was weak, barely above a raspy whisper.  “Some from before your father and I were married.” Steven flipped the lid open, revealing at least thirty envelopes, all sealed with wax. “Others I’ve written for you.” Tears were beginning to bead at the corners of Steven’s eyes. “Open them when you’re discouraged, and remember that I love you, and there is hope.”

 

“I love you too, mama,” Steven whispered back, voice breaking. He put his forehead down on top of their joined hands; she couldn’t see him cry. He was supposed to be the strong one.

 

His efforts didn’t last long though, “Look at me, darling,” he heard his mother say, and despite his own wishes, he lifted his head, facing his mother with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Always be brave, true, and kind. For when those things are present, magic follows.”

 

Steven grabbed a cloth from the bucket filled with ice water beside Sarah’s bed and used it to wipe her burning forehead, placing a kiss on it as he did so. He tried his best not to let any more tears fall as he sat on the edge of her bed, loosely grasping her hand. “Thank you, mama,” he sadly smiled at her, noticing her eyes were closing on themselves, on the verge of sleep. “Sleep. I love you.”

 

Steven fell asleep there, kneeling at her bedside. When he awoke the next morning, his mother’s chest was still.

  


♕

  


The sound of arguing was now a familiar sound in the household. Obscenities were yelled and could be heard from every corner of this once peaceful estate; doors were slammed shut more often than not, and Steven’s stepbrothers were prone to physical altercations that often escalated until they were broken up by his step-father. It was the exact opposite of the happy, pleasant atmosphere that his mother made an effort to keep up over the years, even after the marriage.

 

Mere weeks after Sarah Rogers’ death, Odin dismissed the household, leaving Steven to complete the work himself. Loki said the work would distract him from the grief he did not wish to feel; he was right. Steven sat in the alcove of the study, his hands blackened with dirt, and soot dusted his face, beloved sketchbook in hand.

 

As Steven was finishing out a line, a door slam made him jump and sent his hand to the paper. He sighed, reaching for his eraser. “They aren’t used to sharing a room. Never got along since their mother passed.” A voice said from the doorway. Steven looked up to see his stepfather standing in there.

 

The words he spoke at least somewhat resonated with him. After the loss of his own mother, Steven could empathize with the brothers, even though he wasn’t sure exactly how long ago they had lost their mother, or for what reasons. “That must’ve been terrible.” He said with a sad smile. Odin came in and sat in the chair in front of the desk.

 

The study had been virtually converted into an art studio for Steven long ago. When he began showing an interest and talent in art, his mother allowed him to store any art supplies he may have acquired in the study, where there was plenty of natural light and space. There was also a sofa, and floor to ceiling bookshelves, with a desk in the center of the room. An alcove looked out over the front of the property and had a comfortable nook for sitting.

 

Steven continued to sketch, feeling awkward as Odin’s gaze was on him, but an idea struck him when another door slammed, followed by Thor’s booming voice shouting something at his brother. “My room is the largest after yours and-” He stopped himself before he mentioned his mother. “They could have mine, and I could stay in-”

 

Odin cut him off before he could finish his sentence. “The attic. Spectacular idea.”

 

“The attic?”

 

“Yes. I’m sure there’s plenty of space.” He was right, the attic was spacious and airy. “And that way, our clamor won’t disturb you.”

 

If he remembered correctly, there was already a bed up there, and he could move his other things up eventually, with the help of the remaining staff. It could actually be nice to be away from his stepfam-

 

His stepfather interrupted his thoughts. “Perhaps it’d also be fitting if you kept all of these… things up there, with you.” He gestured to Steven’s art supplies on the desk and the shelves of other stuff.

 

Steven took a moment to process what was just said to him, but before he could protest, Odin was already gone, attempting to settle the dispute between the boys.

  


♕

  


“I just cannot comprehend why there is a need for me to marry,” Bucky said, pacing in front of where the Regent King Alexander sat at the edge of his bed, currently being examined by the palace doctor. He pinched the bridge of his nose frustratedly. “There is no need for me to have a spouse, being that a king may rule single-handedly, just as you have.”

 

“You must have an heir, James. This is precisely why you may not remain unmarried,” the king retorted, rising up from his position and staring at the unfortunate doctor expectantly. “Well?”

 

The white-haired man looked down, afraid, as was common among the palace staff and servants. Alexander was notorious for his quick temper and harsh punishments. He was known as a tyrant throughout the castle, and anyone who dared speak ill of him was subject to a caning, flogging, or even execution; the public image was imperative to Alexander, and he preferred to keep it perfectly intact.  

 

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty. You have but a month, perhaps two if your heart does not fail by then," the doctor said. Bucky didn’t have a hard time maintaining a straight face. The regent king was not Bucky’s, but only a placeholder as his title implied, and a cold one at that. The king and Queen passed away when Bucky was but an infant and much too young to rule a country. As the Grand duke, Alexander was appointed ruler until he passed on and Bucky could take his rightful place on the throne.  `

 

Alexander knew he was in bad health and was prepared for the news he received, so he only waved his hand in dismissal. The doctor left hastily, thankful he was not reprimanded for something he could not control.

"Just because I wish to marry for love, does not mean I will marry a man," Bucky argued, practically throwing himself down on one of the plush seats in the king's room.

 

"But a male consort is a distinct possibility in your case, and that is why you shall marry a woman, for the good of the kingdom, of course, and not for the good of your poor pining heart."

 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “My heart is neither poor or pining. Why can Robecca not be married and produce an heir? She would be a far better ruler than I, anyway."

 

"You wish to marry off your twelve-year-old sister instead? I thought you above that, given that you're so averse to being married yourself."

 

The prince's jaw clenched, and his hand tightened into a fist; he was nearing the end of his patience. "Once she's found love, of course."

 

The king stood and walked toward the tall double doors that lead to the hallway. "That's not how things are done, James. You know that." He paused, reaching for the large door handle. "Just as it's not done for a prince to be late for a portrait. Come now."

 

Bucky followed Alexander into the hallway, attempting to collect his thoughts enough to form a reasonable argument. They were swimming in anger, and it did not help when the grand duke, Rumlow, fell in line with him behind the king.

 

"Still protesting marriage, are we?" he commented, noticing more than the usual amount of tension in the air.

 

Bucky said nothing. Instead, he adjusted the glove on his right hand.  The hours of his morning had been spent being primped by several of the palace servants for the commissioned royal portrait; none of those hours had been enjoyed. Bucky had always been mildly disgusted with the amount of time spent on vanity and looks within the noble community, and he much preferred to remain as natural as possible, doing things by himself when he could.

 

"While I truly am in the countenance of the king, may I suggest a compromise?" This was quite an unusual statement for someone who always stood by Alexander's decisions.

 

The king turned around on his heel to face the duke, looking at him with narrowed eyes. Not many people suggested against his wishes, so Rumlow quickly went on. “A ball. Where our Grand Prince will be allowed to select his bride from a wide range of noble maidens.”

 

Alexander’s expression brightened from that of anger to mild annoyance, then his eyebrows raised and his lips curled into a smile. A plan had hatched in his brain, and oh how he loved the illusion of choice. An arranged marriage disguised by the ball may be the perfect way to ploy the young prince into marrying, while simultaneously gaining the favor of the neighboring kingdoms.  "Yes, a ball. What a spectacular idea."

 

Bucky, meanwhile, looked at both of them with his mouth open in disbelief and raised an eyebrow. "You've got to be joking," he said. He hated balls in general; too much attention and drama, for his tastes, and with the added atmosphere of snotty, pompous, royal dignitaries; overall it was one of his least favorite past times. That was one of the few reasons he actually looked forward to an arranged marriage: avoiding the grandeur of royal courting.

 

“Not at all, my dear boy,” the duke said, clapping him on the shoulder.

 

The king straightened up his posture. “I think the ball is a grand idea.”

 

The Prince's mind raced with ideas on how he could postpone, cancel, or even make the event a little more tolerable. “I will agree to it,” he said, knowing full well he really did not have a choice in the matter, “if everyone in the kingdom is invited; lower and upper classes alike.”

 

Alexander and Rumlow exchanged glances, and clearing his throat, the duke said, “A ball for the people.”

 

Bucky nodded, and Alexander looked between the two of them. “Agreed. And that night, you will pick a bride, James, or I will pick for you.” The prince steeled his jaw, and his hands twitched at his sides, but he said nothing. “Are we finished here?”

 

Without waiting for a response, the king continued walking, and the other two trailed behind him. When the prince looked at the duke, he saw a satisfied smirk. Bucky’s expression darkened as he glared at Rumlow. If they were children, Rumlow would have stuck his tongue out, and a slap fight would’ve ensued, but as civilized adults do, they just glared at each other with silent hatred.

 

♕

 

At his home, Steven was of so little importance to his stepfamily that they rarely acknowledged him--save for when they needed something done--which is why one of his favorite times was when he was sent on an errand into the village. Yes, it took a slight toll on his asthma, but it still allowed him to talk to some of the people who knew him in his childhood and cared about his well-being.

 

One of those individuals happened to be the owner of the bakery in which Steven stood at the moment. The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the shop as the baker made her way out with two loaves of the pastry. "Here we are, Steven," she said, and he slipped some coins into her open hand.

 

"I thank you kindly, Peggy," Steven replied, bowing his head at a slight angle. "Your compassion is always appreciated." She counted the coins in her hand, noting there was one extra, but when she looked up to correct the boy's error, he was already shaking his head. "Keep it. You need it more than I."

 

She couldn't help but walk to the other side of the counter and give the boy a hug. She was still quite a few inches taller than him, so even as she held him at arm's length, her gaze was tilted downward. "You know I love you, and I have a bed upstairs that's open for you if you wish." Peggy had known Steven since he was an infant, as she was friends with his mother before he was born. Ever since his parents’ deaths, she had offered again and again to let him stay with her, but every time he kindly refused.

 

"I cannot tell you how much it means to me, but I need to stay at my home." He paused and smiled solemnly. "There are things to be done, and Mother would want me to stay."

 

Peggy laughed, almost sarcastically. "She would've wanted you to be happy, dear boy." They joined together in another hug, not letting go for a bit too long, and then Steven departed, the bell ringing on his way out the door.

 

Just as he was about to move on to the next destination, a loud, booming voice coming from the town square caught his attention. "Hear ye, hear ye!" it called out, and as Steven turned to see the king's crier shouting, he drew closer not out of a need to hear, but instead, out of curiosity.

 

"Know that on this day two weeks hence there shall be, at the palace, a royal ball. At said ball, in accordance with ancient customs, the prince shall choose a bride. Furthermore, at the request of the prince, every maiden and bachelor, whether they be noble or commoner, is invited to attend." Gasps and noises of exclamation filtered throughout the small crowd gathered around the platform. Steven looked over to see Peggy standing outside her bakery, grinning widely at him. Over the people, now bustling with noise, the crier finished, "Such is the command of our most noble king."

 

The crowd had a new atmosphere about them, eager and excited rather than bored and mundane. Steven completely overlooked his remaining errands in the village in favor of mounting his horse to rush home to share the news. The ride seemed longer than usual even though the horse galloped at least double his average speed.  

 

Upon arrival, Steven entered through the back and discarded the bread in the kitchen, looking for his stepfamily to share the news with. He found them lounging in the parlor. Loki was hanging off the couch with a book in hand, and Thor was practicing lunges with an imaginary sword. Odin was reclining on the sofa, observing his elder son with keen interest, correcting his technique from time to time as if he was an expert sword fighter.

 

Steven entered and interrupted the scene, taking a moment to catch his failing breath. Loki sat up in one swift movement, Thor stopped his imaginary sword practice, and Odin turned to face Steven.

 

"There's been an announcement from the palace," Steven said in a rush. He paused, taking several deep breaths, trying to calm his asthma before it escalated.

 

"Well, spit it out then!" Thor thundered in his usual booming voice.

 

"The prince is to select a bride from a ball that's being held two weeks from now.,He is requesting that both nobility and commoners attend!"

 

Steven's stepfather heaved himself out of his seat at the news and turned to his two sons. "You two must win the hearts of some noble maidens so we may escape this terrible debt we've accrued since we arrived at this wretched place."

 

The comment hurt, but no more than the others that were made just as often. Loki turned to him. “Well? What are you still doing here?” Steven looked at him in mild confusion, he rolled his eyes. “Go into town and order three suits from the seamstress. Soon enough, she’ll be drowning in fabric.”

 

“Three?” Steven asked to clarify. It seemed unlikely that his horribly inconsiderate, rude, and demanding stepfamily would ever think to get him a suit for the ball, but perhaps they had had a moment of kindness. “Thank you. I’ll  go right away-”

 

“Thank you?! For what?” Thor questioned.

 

Steven furrowed his eyebrows and quirked his head to the side. “Well, yes. For getting me a suit.”

 

Thor’s thundering laughter echoed in the study, and Loki snickered.

 

Odin interrupted them. “You? A suit? Let me clarify so that we may get the point through to your thick skull, boy. One suit for my eldest, one for my youngest, and one for myself."

 

Steven took a step back, but he did not know why tears threatened to spill over. Surely he had been through worse. “I would barely spend time with you! I simply want to see the palace, not socialize with any maidens, or meet the prince.”

 

"You will not be attending the ball, not when it would embarrass us so." Odin said matter of factly, “Now, go.”


	2. Act II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to @NadiaHart for beta'ing this entire thing last night. She's amazing.

♕

  
  


After the announcement, Steven’s chores grew exponentially, practically doubling. Before it happened, he wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his stepfamily found even the most menial tasks for him to complete, and seem to find joy in making his tasks three times harder than they needed to be. Still, Steven kept a positive attitude, completing all of his chores by the end of each day.

 

Because he was kept so busy, the two weeks before the ball passed quickly, and Steven realized that he did not have anything to wear. He was aware of what his step-family had said, but he did not let their words deter him from his goal of attending. 

 

The biggest problem was finding attire appropriate enough to be worn to the palace. Steven did not have enough saved in his private funds to afford a suit from the seamstress, nor did he have the skillset required to sew a suit of his own. 

 

He searched the armoire of his clothes multiple times before finally noticing it. It was one of the few things Steven had left of his father’s, and the only thing he had that was at least  _ somewhat  _ appropriate attire for a ball. The military uniform still had the pins on the breast, because it hadn’t been touched since his father took it off for the last time. It was far too big. The sleeves hung inches over his hands, and the pants could fit his feet inside. Luckily, his mother did show him how to mend his own clothes.

 

Steven worked all night and into the day fitting the suit to his thin frame, his fingers raw and slightly numb from all the times he missed his target with the needle. When it was done, the uniform was still boxy in the shoulders, and the sleeves were just a little long, but he no longer tripped over the extra length in the pants or had to tighten the belt past its last loop. It was nothing compared to the suits his stepfamily had custom made, but it was something, and something was all Steven could wish for at this point.

 

Exhausted, he worked to complete the rest of his chores, which mainly involved assisting the siblings in getting ready to attend the ball. It was already late when Steven went up to put his own suit on. 

 

The journey up the stairs to his room seemed longer than normal, and he was more winded when he arrived at the top. Nevertheless, he grabbed the suit from where it was hanging by the window, putting it on careful not to wrinkle it more than it was. 

 

Natasha and Clint sat on his bed, squeaking amongst themselves. Steven turned around, finished fastening the suit in a way that looked presentable. “How do I look?” He asked the mice. They squeaked in what Steven took as approval, and walked to the door, ready to go downstairs. 

Steven hesitated when he reached for the doorknob. Purposefully, he closed his eyes, slowly filling, his lungs with air, and released it at the same speed. “Be brave, true and kind, for when those things are present, magic follows,” he repeated to himself. Then walked down the stairs, arriving at the base just in time to he Loki, Odin and Thor in the process of leaving. 

 

Thor turned his head first, and his eyes widened. Then Loki, who scoffed, and finally Odin, who’s mildly pleased expression morphed into a steely one. “Steven.” 

 

Steven’s smile faded. “Don’t worry, it didn’t cost you anything. It was my father’s old uniform ” He assured and hurried down the rest of the staircase. “I don’t wish to cause any trouble, I’ll stay far away from you when we arrive.”

 

“We? What did I say the last time you asked to attend, Steven?”

 

Steven avoided the question, “but, the king requests that everyone attend.” 

 

Odin laughed dryly, “and it’s the king I think of.”

 

“It would be an embarrassment to have a  _ lowly  _ servant attend the palace ball,” Loki finished, scoffing. 

 

Thor stepped forward and grabbed the sag of Steven’s sleeve, pulling his arm up, “Especially in these old rags.” 

 

“Rags?” Steven questioned. 

 

Loki stepped forward. “Yes. Look at the thing, it’s practically falling apart.” He reached out and grabbed the shoulder, yanking down; the old seam easily tore. Steven gasped. 

 

Thor reached for a cuff. “Tearing apart at the seams.” He pulled, and it separated from the rest of the uniform. 

 

Steven took a step back from the brothers, tears threatening to spill over, “How could you?” 

They parted, and Odin walked forward. “How could we not? We’re doing the king and kingdom a favor, boy. I can’t have you disrespecting him, or the uniform.” He reached out and lifted the medals from where they rested on Steven’s chest. “These aren’t meant to be worn by common housemaids.” Steven’s stepfather pulled them off and held them up and out of his reach. 

 

Steven reached for them desperately, but Thor extended an arm to prevent him from jumping to get them. Odin pretended to examine the medals in the light. “Please,” Steven begged. “Don’t.” 

 

His stepfather ignored him, tossing them carelessly into the roaring fireplace. Thor moved his arm away and laughed, and Steven could hear Loki’s snickering through the ringing in his ears. 

 

Steven was barely standing on his feet and just stared into the fire, watching the medals slowly liquefy over the logs. “Let’s go, boys. We wouldn’t want to be late.” Odin said, turning on his heel and out the front door to meet the waiting carriage. Thor followed, and as Loki was about to shut the front door, he turned around.” 

 

“Oh and Steven… clean this up,” he said, and then kicked over the stand next to the door holding a vase, causing it to shatter all over the floor.

 

The reaction was involuntary. Steven's legs wobbled below him, before finally giving out; the hard floor made forceful contact with his knees and tears flowed freely and silently down his cheeks. Even after Loki slammed the door, his step family’s haughty laughter and snide murmurs could still be heard. It made a flush flare up on his cheeks and the back of his neck, his teeth ground together and his fists clenched, yet tears still stained his cheeks. The walls were closing in on him, and in an effort to push them out and away, he scrambled to his feet and hurried for the rear of the house. 

 

His heart was pounding almost as fast as his feet as they hit the ground, carrying him through the kitchen and into the garden, past the chicken coops, through the beginnings of the meadow. Running was something Steven typically avoided; even breathing heavily put him in danger of an asthma attack, but in his fit of emotion, judgment was thrown to the wind. His thoughts coiled, anger and rage burned inside of him, the heavy breaths escaping his mouth turned to wheezing, the air flowing through his lungs became heated, yet, he still did not stop.

 

_ I’ve failed. Why would I think I could attend the ball at all?  _

 

The wheezing became more frequent, the burning in his lungs increasing.

 

_ What would mother have done? ‘ _

 

Pressure on his chest felt as if an elephant had sat on him.

 

_ ‘Be brave,’ she said. This isn’t brave. This is pitiful.  _

It started to make it’s way up his esophagus, his throat on fire, but Steven ignored it, continuing to forge his way through the grass and weeds in the meadow.

 

_ Perhaps they were right _ . 

 

He wasn’t getting enough air. Every attempt at a full breath felt like a stab wound. 

 

_ I shouldn’t go to the ball. Why did I think I could?  _

 

He choked through his sobs, the lump forming in his throat added to the feeling of his throat closing. 

 

_ I can’t do this anymore. I don’t think I ever could.  _

 

His vision already blurred by the tears forming in his eyes, he barely took notice of the blackness that began to creep in at the edges. Steven collapsed under his own weight in the tall grass, close to the forest’s edge. The only sound he could hear was the ringing in his ears, and his own voice screaming accusations. Sobs still caused his body to shake, and the wheezing continued. The urge to shut his eyes won over the shred of willpower he had remaining. 

 

Darkness nearly consumed him, and Steven prayed silently that it would completely; that he wouldn’t have to put any effort into trying any longer.

 

_ Darkness. Ringing. Pain. _

 

_ Darkness. Ringing. Pain. _

 

_ Darkness. Ringing. Pain. _

 

_ Darkness. Ringing. Pain. _

 

_ Darkness. Ringing. Pain. _

 

_ Silence.  _

 

There was no ringing. Steven took an experimental breath. No burning, just the cold, night air flowing freely through his lungs as if he hadn’t sprinted halfway across the estate grounds; as if it were a normal night. No, it was better than a normal night. He was hyper-aware of each blade of grass that moved against his skin, the gentle chirping of grasshoppers and the hum of fireflies surrounding him. The aching in his legs had dissipated as had the pressure on his chest. Energy flowed through him like nothing had happened. 

 

Steven’s eyelids felt ten pounds lighter when he dragged them open, greeted by the sight of a moonlit sky, dotted with hundreds of stars. 

“You’d  _ think  _ for someone who’s had a lung problem for what?... Ever? You wouldn’t go running off into the sunset like this.” 

 

Startled by the sudden presence of a voice he didn’t recognize, Steven immediately sat up, pushing himself along the ground and in the opposite direction. His heart lurched, and his breaths came heavy in his lungs again. 

 

“Hey, hey. Not gonna hurt ya’ kid. Relax.” 

 

He looked up at the speaker for the first time. The man would’ve only been a couple inches taller than Steven if he was standing, but from the position they were in, he seemed to be a giant. In the moonlight, his hair looked black, and his jaw was framed with facial hair shaved with intricacy that he had not seen in his lifetime, but it seemed to suit the stranger. His clothing did not fit with anything Steven had ever seen before. The gray coat he wore was much shorter than what was worn by the nobility, and it was unbuttoned. The stranger’s shirt  _ underneath  _ the coat though is what really stood out; it was thin and loose like muslin that was common among the upper class, but it appeared to be softer. There was also a perfectly drawn picture of a kitten on the front. His slacks were looser, but the shoes were black and white, with white tips and a large black star in a white circle over each ankle. Steven hadn’t ever seen anyone or anything dressed like this man before. 

 

“Wh-who are you?” Steven stammered, still startled by the stranger standing in front of him. A hand was extended to assist him in standing up, he took it and hoisted himself to his feet. 

 

“For now, call me Tony.” He-- Tony, apparently-- answered casually. “Let’s get down to the important business. Now what you need is something… Something” he snapped his fingers looking around “that could be used for transport, ah, into a carriage? I  _ typically  _ go the ‘fruit and veggie route, but anything’ll work.” He began walking back toward the garden and greenhouse. Tony’s strides were long and confident,  Steven found that he struggled to keep up with them.

 

“We have- wait, what important business do you mean?”

 

“Well, there  _ is  _ a ball in town, isn’t there?” 

 

“Yes of course, but what does that have to do with foo-” 

 

Steven was interrupted when Tony sighed, turning around, “Fairy-godfather, at your service. I am here to get one, Steven Grant Rogers, to a ball. Preferably before it starts… what are you laughing at?”

 

Yes, Steven was attempting and failing, to hold down a giggle as Tony was talking, though he stopped immediately when Tony questioned him about it, schooling his features into something more reasonable he said:. “Fairy-godparents aren’t real, they’re just fairy tales parents tell their children. I’m not as naive as I used to be, you know.”

 

“Oh? Is that what your mother said, I thought I heard something along the lines of ‘they're real if you believe they are.” Steven stepped back slightly, _ how did he know that? _ “And don’t even think about lying; I was there.” 

Steven opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it again. What was there to say? 

 

_ Nothing, just go with it _ , he concluded. With a satisfied nod, Tony turned on his heel and continued in the direction of the house, with his now ‘godchild’ following in toe.   _ Had I really run this far? _ Steven pondered, as the walk took longer than he expected to get back to where they were going. 

 

“Alright. Pumpkins. You people always have pumpkins. Where are they?” Tony finally spoke when the arrived in the orderly garden, rubbing his hands together and looking around at the garden. Wordlessly, Steven pointed to a large patch off to the right of the garden. Why his fairy-godfather needed a pumpkin, and what that had to do with getting him to a ball, he had no idea. They both walked over, Steven opting to sit down on a nearby bench, though his legs no longer burned from his run –he also hoped he would be out of harm’s way– to watch the proceedings.

 

Tony reached into his back pocket and pulling out a small stick, it fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. He quickly tossed a smirk in Steven’s direction and gripped the stick. Steven watched with wide eyes and wonderment as it grew in his godparent’s hand, surrounded in a soft, goldish yellow light. It was now a glass wand, candy red in color. The end had a golden pommel and grip, and it grew until it extended approximately half a meter in length. 

 

“You-” Steven wasn’t sure what to say. There were lots of options. 

 

_ ‘You’re my fairy-godfather.’ _

 

_ ‘You can do magic.’  _

 

_ ‘Magic is real.’ _

 

_ ‘Fairy-godfathers are real.’  _

 

Any of these would be acceptable responses to the events of the past few minutes, but he said none of them and left his thought hanging in the air.

 

“Told you.” Tony, responded.

 

He averted his eyes to the ground, thinking about what exactly was happening; that’s when he noticed Clinton and Natasha under the small bench, looking inquisitive. He smiled at them, and mouthed ‘just watch.’

 

Tony walked through the small pumpkin patch, eventually stopping in front of one that was large and round. Taking two steps back, he pointed his wand in the direction of the pumpkin. Nothing happened, at first, and Steven was beginning to question the reality of his situation– not for the first time that night– but then, the end of the wand began to light up. The warm haze surrounding end of the wand grew steadily, slowly expanding, larger and larger, until it was a bright ball of light at least 6 inches in diameter. Steven’s eyes grew with the ball, large in wonderment. The light pulsed warmly hovering at the end of Tony’s wand, before shooting off in a spiral of sparks toward the pumpkin, and disappearing inside. 

 

The pumpkin glowed from the inside out, rattled like an angry snake, shook as if there was something inside, jumping around. “Hm.” Tony pondered, resting his chin on his hand, “that’s never happened before.” he said wandering over towards the now still vegetable.

 

“How about…” Tony bent over examining the pumpkin before he reeled back and landed a firm kick to the side. The pumpkin lurched, vibrated, began to glow warm and bright. 

 

“There we are,” Tony said stepping back, and as he did the pumpkin began to grow. It lifted into the air spinning slowly on its axis. The long thick vines that grew from its stem swirled around and around, dancing through the air like leaves in the wind. The warm golden glow grew bright before Steven’s eyes. He lifted his arm to shield his view as the light expanded in the evening darkness. Then all at once, the cool still air of the night returned, and the glow blinked out like a candle flame. 

 

Steven dared to peek his eyes open, his breath catching in his throat at what now sat before him. He glanced to Tony who was looking at his handy work, his expression a mix of surprise and elation. Where once was a pumpkin now sat a beautiful shimmering white carriage. Its wheels large and silver sparkled in the moonlight, the door adorned with intricate vine work and the full blooming pattern of pumpkin leaves. It was a sight the likes of which he had never seen before.

 

There was no way any of this was real; it had to be a dream. Or maybe it was true, and the rest of his life was just a nightmare he was finally waking up from. He didn’t know, nor did he care at the moment, wherever the night took him, he vowed to just focus, live in the present and enjoys himself, real or fictional. 

 

Tony stepped back from the carriage with a satisfied sigh, then began pacing, tapping the wand on his chin in front of where Steven sat. “Alright. Next on the to-do list: Coachman, horses, footman,” he turned to him, “got any of those lying around?” Before Steven could say yes or no-- the answer would be no, obviously, but he would still answer-- Tony’s gaze shifted to the mice beside him. “Those’ll work,” He said. 

 

Steven’s eyes widened as the red wand was pointed at his friends. He was tempted to grab them and move out of the line of fire, but instead, he decided to trust his fairy-godfather, and just move out of the way himself. 

 

Again, a ball of light formed at the tip of the wand, steadily growing larger. Then it shot off into a flourish of light, like a bullet from a gun; twirling and sparkling as it got closer to the two rodents.  

 

Once again, Steven shielded his eyes with his arm to protect them from the intensely bright light, and only when he was sure it was gone, did he lower it. Tony was smiling smugly, with his arms crossed, wand now tucked under his arm, and stared at his newest transformation. Where the mice sat just moments ago, there were now two adults. One was female-- Natasha, obviously-- and had bright red hair, similar to the color of her previous furr, and was wearing an all-black coachman’s uniform; tailcoat, trousers, vest, and top hat. Next to her, blonde and muscular is who Steven assumed was Clinton. He wore something nearly identical to Natasha, save for the fact that his vest and accents on his coat were purple. 

 

“Clinton? Natasha?” Steven said, hesitantly walking toward them. 

 

“Hello, Steven,” Natasha said with a small smile, but it did not at all seem sad. 

 

“Please, for god’s sake, call me Clint please, I’ve always hated my full name.” 

 

A huge grin grew on Steven’s face, and he suddenly ran forward and tackled the pair in a hug. 

 

After all, he could now that they were bigger. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” Steven sighed, as he continued to embrace them. Both of them chuckled and hugged him back. 

 

“What a cute family reunion!” Said Tony from a bit away, “Now we need horses…” he looked around again, his gaze eventually falling in front of Steven, Natasha, and Clint, on the blue jay and robin on the pavement. “Birds! Birds will do, right? I’m sure they will.” 

 

He once again pointed his wand at the creatures, and a swirl of flashing light was expelled from the end. Steven tucked his head into Natasha to shield his eyes from the transformation taking place in front of them, only peeking out when he heard a horse neigh. In front of him, two massive horses that stood nearly two heads taller than Steven. One was a blonde horse, almost silver, with brown tufts of hair around his hooves; the other was chestnut, and black where the other was brown. Steven guessed that the blonde was Pietro and the brunette was Wanda. 

 

Just to be sure though, he walked forward and placed a hand on the blonde horse’s snout, petting it gently. “Pietro?” Steven questioned, and got a head nod in response. Steven ghosted a laugh in disbelief, then went over to admire Wanda as well. He noticed something strange. Neither Pietro or Wanda had fur-- normal fur that is. Sure, there were tufts here and there, but their coats also had feathers scattered throughout. Pausing for a moment, he petted them, taking in the sight; it was truly beautiful.

 

Steven smiled excitedly at Natasha and Clint. “Help me get Pietro and Wanda ready? I want to leave as soon as possible.” He was already holding the reins and walking toward the carriage. The two stood, but before they could do anything, Tony cut them off. 

 

“What am I? Chopped liver?” He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. Waving his wand, Natasha and Clint disappeared, as did Pietro and Wanda. Steven gasped, but quickly realized that Natasha was sitting in her proper seat holding the reigns of Pietro and Wanda, Clint standing on the rear step. 

 

Steven nearly started off on a skip toward the carriage, but not before running over to his fairy-godfather. He nearly knocked him over when he engulfed him in a hug. “Thank you,” he said, not letting go. 

 

Tony chuckled, almost awkwardly, patting Steven on the back. “It’s kinda my job. Besides,” He pushed himself away from him. “I’m not done yet.” 

 

“What do you mean? I have the perfect carriage, all my friends and-” he looked down at the tattered and ill-fitting uniform he was still wearing, stopping midsentence. “Oh.”

 

“‘Oh’ is right. No godkid of mine is going to the palace dressed like a mess. That would be unacceptable.” 

 

“Yes, I suppose it would,” Steven concluded. 

 

“Now…” Tony circled him, lifting a thin arm or probing at his outfit occasionally, eventually stopping in front of him, “I think I’ve got it.” 

 

Steven quirked an eyebrow, not in doubt, but in amusement. 

 

“Hold still.” His fairy-godfather said backing up and pointing his wand in Steven’s direction. 

Being on the opposite end of the wand was more intimidating than he expected. The ball of glowing light was much brighter, as well, so Steven squeezed his eyes shut. 

 

It didn’t hurt like Steven expected it to. Instead, he felt warm, pleasant. Slowly, he opened his eyes, peeking out from behind his lids. There was a bubble of golden light surrounding and lifting him, and everything outside the light was blurry, including his fairy-godfather. So, he looked down at his clothing. 

 

It was mending itself. Opened seems closed and it became significantly tighter-- not uncomfortable, it just fit. Then, the color began to change. Navy fabric on the jacket began to lighten until the blue was so light it almost looked white; the cuffs morphed into an ice blue. The golden accents of the uniform transformed into beautiful embroidery over his chest. (x) His shoes grew until the tops reached his knees, and lightened until they were white, instead of black. Breeches morphing to match the ice blue accent color of his jacket. 

 

Slowly, the golden hue faded from his vision, and he was gently sat on the ground once again. His mouth was agape as he admired his new clothing further, he was in disbelief. “Better?” Tony asked, Steven’s gaze immediately shot up to the man standing in front of him. A smug smirk rested on his face, and he blew off the tip of his wand. 

 

“Much better,” Steven answered quickly. “This is more than I could’ve ever asked for. Thank yo-”

 

“Yes, we already did this. No chick-flick moments.” Tony waved it off, and Steven briefly considered hugging him again but decided against it. Before he could do anything, though-- even just thank him again, Tony was ushering him toward the carriage. “C’mon! You got more important things to be doing than sitting here and thanking me all night. If you don’t leave soon, the ball will be over before you even get there.” 

 

Steven rushes over to the carriage himself, excitement taking over. Without stopping, he climbs in the door Clint had opened for him, then sat down on the carriage bench. Before he told Natasha to start their journey to the castle, though, he stuck his head out the carriage window once more. 

 

“Thank you, Tony. For everything. I won’t soon forget this night.” 

 

It looked as if his fairy-godfather was going to brush off the thanks, as he did continually that night, but instead, he raised his finger as if he had just had an epiphany. “That reminds me. The magic has an expiration date, or really time. Midnight.” He explained, “Once the clock is done chiming, everything we just did will go back to normal. Got it?” 

 

Steven looked down at Tony. “Got it,” he said, then nodded in confirmation. 

 

Tony flashes a smirk, “Now, off with you. Go get ‘em.” He nodded toward Natasha, who got the hint and set the carriage in motion. 

 

The ride was short and uneventful, that is, until, they rounded the corner and the palace came into view. Colossal white stone walls dominated the horizon, and the light protruding from the many glass windows cast a warm glow out. Steven’s carriage came to a stop in front of the massive staircase that lead to the palace itself. No other guests were still arriving, meaning Steven was later than he expected to be. That was alright, though; he was there.  

 

Clint helped him out of the carriage, Natasha turning to see, but Steven froze in front of the staircase. All he could do was stare at the first step, and no amount of willpower could bring his foot to step on it. 

 

“Steven…” Natasha started. 

He turned around, looking at his friends with wide, panic-stricken eyes. “I’m scared.” He murmured

 

Natasha sighed, “So were we when we were about to be turned into god knows what by some magic fairy godfather.” 

Steven closed his eyes and nodded, “Be brave, true and kind,” he repeated aloud. 

 

“And you must be doing something right. The magic is already here,” Clint finished. 

 

“Now go enjoy yourself, Steven.” Natasha finished, with a smile. With that, Steven began his venture up the staircase. 

 

♕

  
  


The large, pure white, gilded marble doors dwarfed Steven, making him feel even smaller than he ordinarily did. Music playing from the other side of the large doors indicated that he was much later than he had previously thought, but that wasn't the only reason his heart was beating at such a rapid rate. There was a room full of both royal dignitaries and peasants; people of high power to judge him and the people that had judged him throughout his life regardless. The spell that Tony put on him to mask his appearances did nothing to calm his nerves because he could still see them. 

 

Steven inhaled deeply, attempting to calm his accelerated breathing and racing heart rate, before bringing a small, wiry hand up to knock on the door three times firmly. 

 

The guards inside heard the rap, and the doors swung ajar more quickly than Steven could've ever expected them to. Suddenly, he found himself in a large room full of important people in fancy gowns and suits with eyes boring through his small frame. The music slowed to a stop and conversations dwindled. After swallowing absolutely nothing down his dry throat, he slowly stepped forward, walking toward the edge of the balcony that oversaw the entire ballroom. As the guests looked at him expectantly, he surveyed his surroundings. 

 

On the balcony to his left sat an enormous, golden throne, draped in deep purple, velvet, and sitting in it was King Alexander himself; something like this should be obvious, but it stunned Steven that he was in the presence of such a person. To his left, was a smaller throne, and in it sat Princess Rebecca, the prince’s younger kin. To his right was an empty throne that likely belonged to Prince James, meaning he was out socializing on the ballroom floor somewhere. The grand staircase was littered with what seemed like thousands of candles, and two large floral arrangements--bigger than Steven himself--stood in vases on the landing where the two halves of the staircase intersected. Then, below him at the base of the grand staircase, expanded a large marble floor full of guests. Massive pillars adorned with intricate gold floral patterns stretched all the way up to the tall, raised ceilings. Thousands--perhaps hundreds of thousands--of candles hung on extravagant chandeliers that cascaded from the ceilings. Another enormous pair of doors sat at the opposing end of the ballroom, and swaths of the same purple draping on all of the walls presumably hid more doors. Three sets of floor-to-ceiling windows along the wall opposite the king let in the natural moonlight and provided a beautiful view of the stars. 

 

Steven bowed graciously toward the crowd, as one was supposed to do in this situation.  _ Was that what he was supposed to do? _ He wasn't even sure, really. This wasn't the sort of thing that happened every day. 

 

Slowly and deliberately, Steven made his trek down the stairs with one hand on the banister to help support his wobbly legs. He stopped on the landing to catch a breath and steady himself.

As he began walking down the center of the last stretch of the staircase and near the ballroom floor, the crowd began to part; revealing another figure at the other side. 

  
  


♕

  
  


The ball had already extremely tiresome and tedious to watch, and it had just begun less than an hour ago. Each guest would enter wearing some extravagant and overdone gown, and be announced. They would eye Bucky in different ways, some looking like he was a delectable dessert and others as if he were some intimidating monster, glancing up and quickly turning 

 

away.

 

He was having trouble sitting still next to the king but tried to stay as long as possible for the sake of Robecca, knowing that she was just as uncomfortable around Alexander as he was. If it were his choice, he’d keep her by his side for the majority of the night, but unfortunately, that wouldn’t be allowed by the king, so he was forced to leave her in favor of finding a bride. 

Behind him stood Samuel, one of the few trusted friends Bucky had left in his life. Sam was also Captain of the Royal Guard, which made socializing with him convenient and much simpler than it would be otherwise. 

 

Mixed emotions flooded Bucky as the entrance doors closed, relief and dread. It must have been noticeable to his friend, because he heard a quiet voice say, “no one catch your eye, highness?” 

Bucky chuckled lightly, “An understatement.”

 

Sam looked out at the large clock tower that could be seen out of the windows parallel to where they were seated. “Maybe there was someone you missed?” 

 

“Regardless if you’ve missed someone or not, it’s time for you to go greet your guests on the floor.” The king interrupted, shooting a glare at the prince and his companion. Sam straightened his posture, bringing his shoulders back in an unintentional effort to take up space. 

 

Bucky stood and asked his friend to accompany him down into the sea of guests, all staring at the platform he was on. They disappeared behind the curtain and down a staircase where a wall shielded them from the view of the audience and vice versa. Momentarily, he was relieved that he could take a private breath, alone save for the company of his friend.

 

They stopped halfway down, Bucky leaning against the wall, his head back and eyes shut, taking a deep breath. Sam stood back, two steps or so above his friend, arms crossed. “Are you okay?” 

The prince grinned sarcastically, not opening his eyes. “Yes, I’m perfectly alright, thank you for asking.” 

 

Sam held his hands up in a defensive gesture, Bucky could tell even with his eyes closed. “I’m just trying to help, highness.” He said with a smirk. 

 

Bucky was going to respond with a sarcastic remark of some sort, but he heard something that he wasn’t expecting; the ballroom doors opening, yet again. There was also something he didn’t hear, there was no murmur of voices or the soft sound of violin. His eyes opened, and he looked confusedly at Sam. 

 

They continued down the last half of the stairwell, curious as to what was going on. When they emerged on the floor, Bucky’s eyes were immediately drawn toward the blonde on the grand staircase. He was unlike any other guest attending the ball, his eyes were wide and wandering, full of innocence and wonder. Yet, he moved with the grace and poise of someone that had done this one thousand times before. 

 

Not thinking, he abandoned his friend at the base of the staircase, walking, so he was parallel to where the stranger was going to step onto the ball floor. The guests parted like the red sea, creating a clear path between him and the mystery guest. Bucky held onto the base of his sow sword near his belt, steadying it, and as an almost pavlovian response began to walk forward.

Once they met in the middle, the stranger bowed, and Bucky bowed back. He always hated feeling above people. He believed that he was no one special, and human being deserved some sort of respect. 

 

"Steven, your highness." Steven introduced himself. The name was common, but something about it fit the stranger. Bucky wasn't sure what. “Or Steve, if you’d like.”

 

There was a height difference, that was obvious; the Prince stood at least a head taller than Steve, so he tilted his head down to make eye contact, instead of looking down his nose. "I’m James." He ignored the formal greeting he had been taught to use since he was a young boy. It was "proper," they told him, but now it didn't seem to fit. This was too organic. "But you can call me Bucky." The prince half smiled. 

  
  


♕

  
  


Steven cautiously stepped onto the ballroom floor. It felt like a bolt of electricity had flown through him as soon as he made contact and his body went slightly numb for several seconds. Nevertheless, he put one foot in front of the other and walked toward the also advancing stranger. 

There was obviously something special about the brunette man, Steven observed. His clothing was far fancier than the rest of the attendants. They looked at him with awe, and as he somewhat ungracefully walked toward the center of the floor, to meet the man, it hit him like a tonne of bricks. 

 

This was the prince.  

 

His legs were rapidly leading him toward one of the most influential people in the entirety of Europe. They were moving of their own accord, and there was nothing Steven could do to stop them. 

 

He didn't go to the ball with the intention of meeting the prince, unlike the majority of the people here. He just wanted to get out of the house and away from the constant list of never-ending chores and duties and abuse spat at him. Perhaps he would interact with a couple of the others. Steven had never even planned to dance in the first place; he was unskilled in that area. The prince would never be interested in him. Or so he thought. 

 

Any doubt that this somehow wasn't the prince fled Steven's mind after that moment, and his already pounding heart seemed like it was going to fly violently out of his chest.

 

He tried his best not to be 'star-struck' but Christ, the prince, was gorgeous. The rumors of his appearance passed through the kingdom from peasant to peasant, but they did no justice to his looks. 

 

His short dark brown hair was combed up and away from his warm, ivory toned skin. Soft, chocolate brown eyes were set under a heavy brow bone to match a jawline that looked like it had been carved by the finest sculptor in the land. His suit was an off-white color, accented with a dark eggplant collar and gold flourishes along the buttons; it almost looked as if he was meant to match the decorations, but it was more likely the decor was made to match him. 

 

Steven's mother taught him grace and poise, and how to hold himself with his chin held high and proud. It was a necessary skill when you were sickly, weak and scrawny. Most men could make up for whatever masculinity they lacked in personality with their looks, but Steven had nothing to hide behind. 

 

When Bucky returned his bow, Steven was flabbergasted. While he was still slightly bent at the waist, he mustered the strength to introduce himself. 

 

"Steven, your highness." Those words felt so strange coming out of his mouth. Steven hadn't introduced himself to someone in God knows how long.  Mostly confined to his large estate, save for the occasional errand into town, he truly had no reason to introduce himself to any new people.  He never thought that the next time he would introduce himself it would be to the 

prince. “Or Steve, if you’d like.”

 

“I’m James,” Of course he was, Steve knew the prince’s name. “But you can call me Bucky.”  Once they both raised their posture, Bucky extended his own hand out for Steve to take, "It's my pleasure, Steve. Would you do me the pleasure of joining me in the first dance?"

 

Steve's stomach dropped. He didn't know how to dance, let alone with a prince. With his father dying before he was a teen, and his mother not far after, no one was there to teach him. The blonde leaned in closer to Bucky, and quietly he said, "I'm not exactly sure how highness." 

 

Bucky chuckled softly. “Your honesty is refreshing; most would just accept the invitation, stepping on my feet until the song was finished. "Just follow my lead. It's relatively simple.”

Bucky looked over toward the musicians, signaling them with a raised hand to play once again. The music flowed from the orchestra and reached the ears of the guests. Steve tried to ignore all of the stares they received as they both stepped back and bowed. Instead of pairing off and filling the dance floor, the guests remained in a circle around the two. The crowd’s stares only served to make Steve more nervous. 

 

Bucky settled his hand on the blonde’s back, using the other to grasp Steve's hand. He had done this dance a thousand times before, and he tried to convince himself that this time was no different, but it was. Steve was not only different from any previous dance partner, but the occasion also carried an unusual underlying pressure and concern of finding a female to marry. Not that he cared what his surrogate father believed or thought of his bisexuality, but with the law of the land’s disfavourable attitude toward homosexual marriage, it was unrealistic to hope to marry a man. The prince could feel the king's gaze penetrating his back as he joined hands with Steve. 

 

“Have you ever waltzed before, Steve?” Bucky inquired. 

 

“Only when I was young, standing on my mother’s feet.” Sarah taught Steve the basics of the waltz when he was young, but it was nothing compared to dancing at an actual ball. 

Nevertheless, he used his meager knowledge to bring his hand to meet Bucky's' and clasp the prince's upper arm in proper form.

 

“Then I’m sure you can recall the basic 1, 2, 3 step,” Bucky smiled, taking it through it once, just to show him. “That’s it, really. We can add a few flourishes, for… taste, if you’re feeling comfortable.” He smirked.

 

The two began to circle each other, Steve heavily following Bucky's lead. It felt as if electricity was flowing from the ground and into their feet. The beat of the music led them in a swirling whirlpool of motion. 

 

"1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3," Bucky whispered quietly, so only Steve could hear. It was much appreciated on the receiving end. Steve struggled immensely to focus on anything beyond the Prince’s  dancing. Bucky turned elegantly, perfectly in time with the music, as if he had been doing this exact dance for his whole life. Yet, there was a harshness and sharpness to his movements, powerful and assertive. Bucky guided Steve as if he was a mother teaching her child to walk for the first time, as Steve's movements were a bit ungainly.

 

“They’re all watching us,” Steve observed in a low voice as they continued to dance, or you could say, as Bucky continued to dance and Steve simply awkwardly followed his movements. 

 

“I have to disagree,” The prince said with a slight smirk, “They’re all watching you.” 

 

“Am I really that bad?” The blonde asked, half joking even though he was apprehensive that

Bucky chuckled, “No, but you certainly are unique. People get tired of constantly seeing the same faces,” he paused. “And you also happen to look completely mesmerizing.” 

 

The compliment caused a noticeable blush to bloom on Steve’s cheeks and a timid smile to spread across his lips, which only aided in Bucky’s favor to compliment him again later. He enjoyed seeing the reaction caused by his words.

 

They continued the 1-2-3 step of the waltz as they quietly conversed, and once as they turned near the edges of the guests, he saw three faces that he dismally recognized. Even though he knew that his stepfamily could not recognize him due to the spell that his fairy-godfather had put on him, it still distracted his thoughts and brought him back down to reality. This night was only temporary, and at midnight, he’d have to return to his depressing home duties. However, he did not want to dwell on that, rather, he desired to live in the present and enjoy himself.  

 

The feeling of something hard under his foot startled Steve out of his thoughts and back to the prince. “Apologies,” he muttered, realizing that the object was Bucky’s foot. He must’ve drifted and lost count of the steps. 

 

The prince smiled, not phased by his feet being stepped on, as Steve reasonably weighed only 100 pounds at best. "That's quite all right." He said as the music slowed to a stop, and he relaxed their pace in turn. Pulling away from Steve was harder than he imagined; he had enjoyed the intimacy and closeness that he felt while they were dancing. Nevertheless, he stepped back and bowed.

 

Couples surrounded them, filling up space and preparing to dance as the orchestra began to play the first notes of the next song. The realization washed over Bucky as it occurred to him that if he and Steve were to stay in the ballroom, they would be separated, paired off with different partners. 

 

Bucky was far too interested in his current partner to dance with any of the other attendees. “Come with me,” He said, smiling and taking hold of Steve’s hand to lead him through the other dancing guests and to one of the rather plain-looking doors hidden behind the drapery. Of course, there was a guard stationed next to it, but with a nod from the prince, he stepped aside, letting the two through.

 

The door led them into a hallway which was modestly decorated in comparison to the extravagant ballroom behind them. “I hope you don’t mind the quiet as opposed to the hustle and bustle of the ballroom,” Bucky said, walking alongside Steve, holding his hands behind his back casually.

 

“Not at all, Your Highness,” Steve said, unsure if he should use the prince’s formal title or the nickname he was given earlier. “In fact, I prefer it. It’s rare that I find a moment’s peace where I live.” 

 

“Please, my title is much too formal and stuffy for my liking, as is my given name. Call me Bucky.” Bucky said with a smile. There was no reason for the blonde boy to be using his formal title or given name in a private setting like this and too many people he did not care for using them. 

 

Steve let out a small laugh. “Bucky,” he repeated, “And where does one get such a name?” 

 

A fond smile spread over Bucky’s lips, “My middle name is Buchanan, and as you can imagine, when my infant sister attempted to pronounce it, she failed in the most delightful of ways,” He paused, reminiscing for the briefest of moments. “Do you have any siblings?” 

 

Steve sighed out, “Two, yes,” he answered. He had considered lying, but he had no valid reason to do so. “And a stepfather,” He added. The question would most likely be asked later, so he thought he may as well answer it then. 

 

Bucky could easily tell from Steve’s total change in body language and tone that he didn’t enjoy talking about his family, and he was curious as to why, but he decided not to press the subject. After all, he had just met the stranger. A bout of awkward silence fell over the two of them as they continued to walk down the long corridor together.

  
  


“There’s rarely a moment of solitude in the palace, despite what most think. Though, I do find solace in the simpler pursuits of life.”

 

“Such as?” Steve inquired, anxious to remove the focus of conversation from himself as soon as possible. 

 

“I can show you, if you’d like,” Bucky offered.

 

Steve smiled. “Lead the way.”

 

\--

 

Bucky pushed open a large set of wooden doors at the end of the twisting halls and corridors Steve had followed him through. The rectangular room was massive, with walls that bowed toward the center of the chamber. The walls functioned as shelves filled to the brim with books of all sorts. The high ceiling was a trend throughout the castle, Steve noticed, and it surely wasn’t broken here.  Parallel to the doors was a grand fireplace, probably taller than Steve himself, and above it hung the Barnes family crest. Steve gazed around. The village library had no more than 100 books, so this was more than he had seen in his lifetime; there are no doubt books on art in here, Steve thought.

 

"The Royal Library," Bucky said, walking in and opening his arms to indicate the seemingly thousands of books, slightly entertained by Steve's wonderment. 

 

"You enjoy reading?" Steve asked. 

 

"I enjoy learning," the Prince corrected. "This is simply the quickest way. My parents were the same, hence the comprehensive selection of literature that you see. " 

 

Steve slowly made his way over to the first shelf to his right, tilting his head to inspect them. The titles of the books were blurred by the layers of dust settled on them, obviously not read often. After wiping them off, the titles were revealed. ‘Romeo and Juliet,’ one read. "Not one for romance?" Steve noticed all the other books in that section were also romantic fiction. 

 

Bucky shook his head and smiled down. “No, they were more my mother’s taste. They’re excellent books, but I have my favorites tucked away.” 

 

He walked over to the bookshelf adjacent to the fireplace, Steve followed curiously. When he pulled on a seemingly random blue book on a shoulder height shelf, it did not move, but instead, the entire shelf opened like a large door.

 

The fact that the prince was confiding in him spoke volumes about how he felt about Steve. This was likely a secret that was kept from him and few others if Bucky went to this length to keep the key and lock hidden. For not the first time that night, Steve was perplexed as to why the prince was so interested in him, let alone why he was being shown so much trust. 

 

Bucky lead Steve inside the room behind the door. “This is my private collection,” he explained. “It’s where my sister and I come to escape and rest in solitude.” 

 

The room was only small in comparison to the massive library behind them, the private chamber was approximately the same size as the attic where Steve slept. Although the walls were painted a shade of maroon, he could only see the color through and above the bookshelves that covered three out of the four walls; the remaining wall was brick with a small, wooden door, with a barred window, and obviously set on the outskirts of the palace fortification. 

 

Between the bookshelves, several paintings hung, more carefully arranged than the ones in the library, grouped together so that they complemented one another, but Steve was immediately drawn to one of them. It was obviously done from the perspective of the palace overlooking the entire kingdom, and as the blonde ventured closer to the artwork, he could see the faint silhouette of a tall house near the forest’s edge. Raising his hand up, he examined it more closely, feeling the canvas itself. 

 

"Artist?" Bucky inquired, observing the delicate way Steve's fingers traced over the ridges of acrylic paint. 

 

Steve turned back to the prince momentarily, then back to the painting, "Amateur at best." 

Bucky sat down in one of the plush chairs located in the center of the room while Steve opted for a chair in front of a small writing desk. There lay a piece of scrap parchment next to a graphite pencil. Steve looked at the Prince, who was gazing over at him. He smiled shyly, “They’ll be missing you at the ball.” 

 

“The world may end if I’m absent for a short period,” Bucky scoffed sarcastically. “I’ve never enjoyed attending those things anyway, Sam will make sure everything runs smoothly.” He was tempted to continue onto say how different the palace was when his mother was around, even though he was but a child when his parents passed, but he decided it would be inappropriate and would damper the conversation. 

 

“Who’s Sam?” Steve asked, a tinge of jealousy seeping through his tone. He scolded himself internally; he had no right to be jealous. 

 

“The captain of the royal guard,” Bucky answered easily. “But more importantly my friend. There are not many friends a crown prince can have as a child, but we’ve been friends since childhood.” He paused. “And what about you? Did you have any friends as a child.” 

 

Steve smiled fondly, thinking of Natasha, Wanda, Bruce, Pietro, and Clint, who also happened to be waiting outside the palace for him. “A few. We’re very close. We’ve been friends since I was very young, much like you and Sam.”

 

As Bucky shifted his gaze out the window (only because he did not want to appear rude or disrespectful by staring at him longer than strictly necessary, even though he could for days on end), Steve reached over to grab the graphite pencil next to him. The moonlight cast a shadow over the prince's features, highlighting them flawlessly. He began to sketch the framework of what he saw absentmindedly. Of course, Bucky did notice, and could not withhold the sarcastic comment that escaped. "Should you have me pose?” Although his eyebrow raised, and a small smirk spread across his lips, he dared not move an inch. 

 

Steve chuckled silently. However, he did not stop drawing. Generally, in a case like this, he would shy away, embarrassed that he was trying to capture an unsuspecting subject, but the artist always felt more confident with a pencil in hand, and with the added atmosphere set by the prince’s playful jests, Steve was more comfortable than he often was around his own kin. 

 

Seeing the blonde’s reaction, Bucky continued, “Perhaps reclining on the sofa with a rose between my teeth?” 

 

“That’s much too dramatic for my tastes,” Steve paused, then continued sarcastically, “But perhaps you could move your chin slightly to the left.” 

 

Bucky complied, rolling his eyes, “You’re far more sympathetic than any of the artists we’ve commissioned for portraits. Most would have me pose holding a sword in some ridiculous fashion.” Steve remembered the portrait he witnessed in the entryway of the ball, grand and marvelous, but also dramatic and overly grandeur. He smiled, eyes flashing from Bucky’s face to the parchment. For the sake of time, he kept the strokes of the pencil light and delicate, but he knew he could spend hours detailing every curvature in the prince’s features.

 

They sat in a comfortable silence for quite some time, enjoying the simplicity of each other’s presence, the only sound was the soft crickets that could be heard from out the small door and the soft sound of Steve’s pencil on the paper. Eventually, he set the pencil down, not entirely satisfied with the amount of detail he put in, but knew if he continued any longer, his perfectionism would soon take over and they’d sit there for days. 

 

“Is it finished?” Bucky piped up from his chair and Steve noded. 

 

“As finished as it will get unless you’d like your arms and neck to go stiff,” he smirked. 

Bucky rolled his eyes playfully and ventured over to the desk. His hand rested on the corner and supported his weight, and the other was behind Steve, making gentle contact with his back. The prince was taken aback when his eyes found their way to the piece of parchment on the desk; he had never seen his likeness displayed in such a way. All of the palace commissions he had posed for could never match the light strokes of Steve’s pencil and the soft shading accenting them. 

 

“This is…” Bucky began, but could not find the words to finish his statement. 

 

“Nothing,” Steve finished for him.

 

“Incredible, beautiful, magnificent. Anything but nothing, Steve,” 

 

Steve blushed and tried to think of something to say. It really wasn’t anything to him. If only he had the time to put into a full piece- “All credit mustn't go to the artist, there must be natural beauty in the subject for the artist to capture.” He looked to Bucky above him and realized how close they really were, their noses mere inches from touching. 

 

Steve became very aware of the increasing intensity and pace of his beating heart the longer he stared into the prince’s warm, welcoming chocolate brown eyes; no matter how he tried to avert his gaze, he could not bring himself to do so. He could only imagine that this-- butterflies fluttering around in his stomach, the radiating head coming from Bucky’s skin, the tremble of his hands and flutter of his eyelids-- was the feeling was described to him so many times in the books he read, but so, so much more intense than he had ever thought it would be. 

 

He noticed Bucky’s gaze faltering from his eyes down to his lips, and he was well inclined to do the same. The subtle pout of rouge lips was almost as inviting as the warm eyes that were bringing Steve ever so closer. He saw the corners of the lips turn up into a slight smile, and before he could ponder his feelings or observe his surroundings any longer, the lips in question were on his.

 

It was chaste, the Prince's lips softer than he would’ve imagined. They lingered close after Bucky pulled away, again simply staring into each other’s eyes, but it wasn’t long after that that the prince’s mouth was back on his, this time hungrier.  Bucky’s mouth warm, tasting slightly of champaign and chocolate he must’ve eaten earlier that night. Steve felt a hand caress his cheek gently, pulling him closer; he rose from his sitting position, never losing contact. 

 

They stayed there for what seemed like an eternity, lips locked and hands-on shoulders and hips until something cut through the pleasant haze of Steve’s mind. A bell toll. 

 

He pushed Bucky away, “I have to go.” He said, looking into the eyes of his newfound lover, confusion evident. 

 

“What? Why? Have I done something to offend you? I swear to you it was unintentional-” 

 

Steve was slowly taking steps backward, he needed to go, but could not bring himself to turn away yet, “No. You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. My time here was limited as soon as it began. I must go.” 

 

The second toll had Steve turning away from the prince, ready to run, but Bucky reached out, grasping one of Steve’s hands with both of his own. “Please,” he begged, “stay. I will do anything for just a second longer with you.”

 

“And I you, but I’ve deceived you, and if you were to see me for how I truly am, I’m confident you would never have spoken to me in the first place.” 

 

“Surely that isn’t true. Whatever it is you speak of, you must tell me-” 

 

The third bell toll, set Steve on his way, “Goodbye, Bucky. I’m sorry.” He said, leaving his glove in the prince’s hand as he dashed through the library.

 

Distantly, he heard Bucky follow him, shouting his name, but more presently in his mind, was the fourth toll of the bell as he pushed open the door to the ballroom, where they had entered the hall earlier. Steve fought the urge to stop, to stay with Bucky for as long as they could before they were forcibly separated by law. 

 

Steve awkwardly pushed his way through the guests as quickly as he could, muttering apologies along the way. Surprised gasps and some high-pitched squeals could be heard as the prince re-emerged. The guests, wondering where the prince had disappeared to with the stranger, were probably still hoping for the opportunity to dance with him; that is, after all, that they came for. Steve felt immense guilt for selfishly wasting both their and the prince’s time.

 

_ Four _

 

By the time Steve reached the top of the staircase he had entered on, his shortness of breath was taking a toll on him, as if his asthma was returning, though he ignored it, and focused on getting to the carriage in time. Through the foyer and the courtyard, Bucky continued to follow him, and the pounding of his feet did not slow until he was in front of his carriage, waiting at the bottom of the steps. 

 

“Clint!” Steve yelled, getting the footman’s attention. Clint’s head snapped up, and he rushed to 

open the door to the carriage. When Steve stepped up to get into the carriage, he thanked him, then toppled into the bench seat, lungs burning and chest heaving. He couldn’t say he missed asthma. 

 

The reigns on the horses cracked, the carriage shook as it left its position at the base of the staircase, Natasha calling Pietro and Wanda into motion. 

 

_ Five _ . 

 

Steve gazed out the window, his eyes falling on the figure at the top of the stairs, Bucky. For one last moment, he was able to see the prince silhouetted against the bright light of the palace before the carriage pulled out of view, and rounded its way onto the dirt road.

  
  


♕

  
  


Steve’s lips were soft, as if untouched by the cruel world, and his mouth was sweet. One of Bucky’s gloved hands rested on Steve’s cheek, while the other on his hip. In the back of mind, something was blaring at him not to get attached. He was to pick a bride, not a husband; he ignored that for now, just focusing on the kiss and Steve. 

 

The hands around his neck disappeared, and he was suddenly pushed away as if Steve had been burned. “I have to go,” he said. Bucky’s eyes widened. Did he do something to offend him, or did he move too fast? His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

 

“What? Why? Have I done something to offend you? I swear to you it was unintentional-” Bucky tried to explain, if Steve really did have to go, he did not want whatever  _ this  _ was to end on negative terms. 

 

His lover was slowly taking steps backward toward the exit. “No, “ he said, “You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. My time here was limited as soon as it began. I must go.” 

 

This confused Bucky even more than he was before, if something was keeping him from staying, 

perhaps he could fix it. In a last, desperate attempt, he reached out, grasping Steve’s gloved hand with both of his own. “Please,” he begged, “stay. I will do anything for just a second longer with you.”

 

He could tell he was keeping Steve longer than he wished to be kept, but he must at least know why. “And I you, but I’ve deceived you,” Steve said, looking with begging sapphires, “and if you were to see me for how I truly am, there I’m certain you would never have spoken to me in the 

first place.” 

 

Even if Bucky had only known Steve for a few short hours, he knew that whatever it was he spoke of was not as serious as he believed it to be. “Surely that isn’t true. Whatever it is you speak of, you must  _ tell  _ me-”

 

Steve was turned away from him but still looked back once more. Bucky was able to look into his cerulean eyes, begging him to stay. For a brief second, he thought he saw a consideration-- something that said Steve was going to stay-- but it was quickly wiped away. 

 

“Goodbye, Bucky. I’m sorry.” Steve slipped from his glove, leaving the silk empty in the prince’s hands. 

 

For moments, he stood there, staring at the limp piece of material. Then he followed after him, “Steve! Wait! Please!” He shouted once they reached the corridor. As Bucky ran to catch up with him, it slipped his mind that there was probably a quicker way to catch him; one that would cut Steve off, but at the moment, he just followed behind. 

 

Steve disappeared through the door leading to the ballroom, and not thinking, Bucky ran in as well. His entrance took everyone’s eyes off the blonde making his way through the crowd and with a few surprised gasps, all the attention was on him yet again. 

 

The prince tried to catch up to his fleeing lover while simultaneously politely turning down requests for a dance or conversation. He continued to call out to Steve, following him through the foyer and out into the palace courtyard. Though, Bucky stopped at the top of the staircase, just noticing the measured jogging of someone trying to catch up with him, a hand on his shoulder. 

 

Chest heaving, a small smile on his lips, “Get me my horse, Sam.” He watched the ornate carriage disappear down the hill. 

 

“Bucky-” 

 

What Bucky thought was one set of footsteps, must’ve been two because another voice cut through. “Your court needs you, Your Highness,” Rumlow said, “Alexander has fallen ill and was escorted out of the ball.” The hesitation to go back was apparently more evident that Bucky thought because he continued. “Your sister.” 

 

Bucky closed his eyes and sighed, as much as he wanted to follow Steve- find out why he left- the Grand duke had a point. He could send Sam and the royal guard after him but chose not to, instead of turning on his heel and walking back toward the palace. 

 

“It is a good thing that he left, James.” Rumlow continued, catching up to walk by Bucky’s side; Sam stayed behind him. “Now you can focus on the purpose of the ball; finding a bride.” 

Bucky’s hand clenched beside him, a warning for the duke to stop.

  
  


♕

  
  


Steve was forced to walk about half the way home, but that wasn't a problem. After all, he had his friends to talk to, even if they were only mice and birds again. His ensemble was back to the tattered uniform he had originally intended to wear, except for one white glove that now sat in his pocket. He arrived home to see nothing had changed from when he left in the magic carriage, but the atmosphere felt lighter, not so depressing. 

 

It took his stepfamily about an hour to get home from the ball, and Steve still had a smile on his face. He tried to wipe it off and maintain a neutral expression in their presence, but couldn’t help it as he heard the events of the ball recalled from their skewed perspective.


	3. Chapter 3

♕

Bucky’s feet ached from dancing and his head throbbed with the conflictions brought about by meeting Steve for several days following the ball. Facing the reality of not marrying for love was hard enough without the added confusion of beginning to fall in love with someone he could never have and would likely never see again. Despite Sam’s numerous attempts to get his mind off of him, the lump in his pocket created by the glove prevented that from happening. It never left his side; a constant and welcome reminder of the events of the night. 

 

There was added pressure when the events of the ball concluded, for he was to chose a bride. It’s not that all the maidens that were in attendance at the ball were atrocious company-- though, some of them he could  _ certainly  _ do without talking to again-- but that Bucky could not or did not want to imagine spending the rest of his life with them.

 

The king’s health continued to decline in the weeks following the ball, Bucky spoke to the doctors on a daily basis. Now bed ridden-- and with what the doctors predicted to be a month left to live-- Alexander wasn’t able to attend to the majority of his duties, and along with the pressures of marrying, the prince was now forced to step in, assisting in his ailments and making sure everything was taken care of. 

 

As always, though, Grand Duke Rumlow was there to make sure the king’s will was intact, and Bucky’s wishes were as oppressed as possible. The only relaxation in his life came from his sister. Rebecca would often find him wherever he may be, in his rooms, wandering the halls, the private study he showed Steve too, and request that he read to her. She would always pick out one of Bucky’s favorite books, and sit near him, listening intently or even falling asleep; if that was the case, he would always carry her to bed, if she was not already in it. 

 

For twelve years old, she was incredibly wise and mature. The night of the ball, when Bucky entered back into the ballroom, she was on the floor speaking with guests and keeping things at least a little calmer than they would be. Later that night, Rebecca inquired about Steve. 

 

“Who was that man you disappeared with, Bucky?” She asked as she walked beside him in the hall on the way to her rooms. 

 

Bucky looked down, seeing a lot of their mother in her thoughtful eyes. He wasn’t exactly sure how to answer her. He could tell her his name, or how they talked, or about the drawing, or perhaps even about the way they kissed-- though he doubted she wished to hear that. Smiling fondly he said, “His name was Steven.” 

 

She laughed, at which Bucky was taken aback. “Is that  _ all  _ you know?” 

He stuttered for a minute, “Well- I mean- He- I know he has step siblings and a stepfather, and his parents died when he was young. He enjoys drawing and is phenomenal at his craft. See?” Bucky pulled Steve’s sketch he had pocketed when going to lock the private study. He showed it to Rebecca. 

 

She nodded in recognition, though wasn’t quite as astonished at Steve’s talent as he did. “I see.” Taking the drawing in hand, she looked up at her older brother again. “You seem awful in love with him for just meeting him..” 

 

He cleared his throat immediately and fixed his posture. “I’m not in love with him.” Bucky could feel a light blush spread across his cheeks that he was sure his little sister noticed, but pray she did not. Although he was not in love with Steve-- several hours over one night was hardly enough time for that-- he could be well on his way. “The world would need to be a different place.”

 

“Then make it a different place.” They continued to walk, but Rebecca reached up to grab his hand. “Soon enough, you’ll be king, Bucky, and you can change things for the better.”    

 

He looked down at her fondly. She was so innocent; intentions clear and pure unlike so many of the people he was surrounded by. Why weren’t things that simple? 

✧

 

Perhaps it was proper to wait at least several weeks after the king’s death before summoning Steve to the palace, respectful even. After all, the kingdom wasn’t aware of the discord between Alexander and Bucky, and the new king did not want to appear unsympathetic, but he was also incredibly eager to ask for Steve’s hand. 

 

With advice from his advisors, though, the newly crowned king waited the appropriate amount of time for “mourning” before issuing a proclamation; renouncing the law preventing anything but heterosexual marriages, and requesting Steve’s presence at the palace. 

 

A proclamation was sent out into the kingdom, requesting Steven’s presence:

_ ‘Hear ye! Hear ye!  _

 

_ Know that on this day, our new king here by declaifres his love _

_ For the mysterious blonde bachelor, as wore white satin gloves _

_ and who called himself Steven. _

_ And requests that he presents himself at the palace immediately, _

_ Whereupon, if he be willing, his royal majesty shall forthwith marry him. _

 

♕

 

Even the smallest cough had Steven on edge, so he became extremely cautious in the weeks following the ball when he began exhibiting symptoms and virtually quarinteened himself in the house, not that much changed when it came to his chores.  It was unlikely that he’d bounce back from any minor illness as most would, and it would progress into something uncontrollable. A minor cough could mean anything from the common cold to Tuberculosis, neither of which would end well for Steven.

   For the years after his mother’s death, he was able to remain healthy-- as healthy as someone with his long medical history could be-- but he now attributes that to the efforts of his fairy godfather. Did that magic go away after what happened at the ball? Steven wasn’t sure. 

   Steven found himself weaker and weaker as weeks passed; it became harder to complete the tasks he once found simpler. Over the period of a few days, the pressure in his head increased and his cough became almost unbearable. Steven’s asthma only increased the symptoms and effects of whatever disease he had contracted. Often, he would spend upwards of two minutes hacking, and cough then struggles for air, wheezing and taking short, sharp breaths.  He spent more time in his room than he did cleaning or cooking, unable to stay up for long. Occasionally, he would have to venture downstairs for food and water. His stepfamily had no sympathy for him and would criticize Steven when they would see him for his laziness and neglect, even though his whooping cough made it clear he was ill. 

   Instead of wallowing in bed, Steven would do the one thing that pleased him; draw. Over the past years, he had filled the attic walls with drawings of varying degrees of completeness, mostly depicting his mother or memories he had of her or things from his childhood. Now, though, he drew the sweet memories of happiness bliss he had acquired at the ball. Whether it was a replica of the drawing he left with Bucky-- detailing the sharp lines of his jaw and the kind, welcoming eyes-- or it was the grand ballroom Steven had witnessed when he first entered, the pieces of paper filled the remaining spaces of the attic walls where you could see wood. 

   Steven knew he should see a doctor, but couldn’t bring himself to go into town. Dr. Erskine always waved the charge when he saw him, so that wasn’t the problem, but he lacked the energy to do much other than to lie in his bed, even eventually losing the energy to draw. He also knew that the illness had progressed passed the point of any treatment a common doctor could provide; perhaps a royal healer could help him, but that was clearly out of the cards. 

   Natasha and Clint helped as much as they could, being mice and all, spending most of their time in Steven’s room, keeping him company. Pietro and Wanda opened and closed his window for him. And slept on the rafters in the attic. It was nice to have friends when you feel so alone, he often thought. 

   Steven could feel his fever worsening too, cold sweats, and fever dreams; some seemed more like hallucinations. Sometimes, it would be of his mother-- taking care of him and running his hands through his hair as she always did-- others would be less pleasant, ones of his father’s harsh hand. More often than not though, they contained visions of warm brown eyes and calloused hands belonging to prince; sometimes coming to rescue him, or simply just keeping him company. Sadly, when he awoke, the room would be empty save for the four animals he called his friends.

 

Often, he was greeted with the soft squeaks of Clint and Natasha, or the chirping of Pietro and Wanda. Today, though, those things were absent. Steven left his eyes closed when he woke up, dreading the inevitability of coughing. But keeping his eyes closed did nothing to prevent the inevitable from happening. 

 

It felt as if his insides were trying to turn themselves inside out from the force of his barking cough, and he wheezed with effort to try and get more air. After a few minutes, it subsided, and Steven nearly fell asleep again before remembering the absence of his friends. 

 

He dragged his eyelids open, only managing to get halfway, and glanced around; they were nowhere to be seen. Slowly, he turned his head and then noticed Loki sitting in the nearly broken chair near the entrance of his room, the attic.

 

One leg was crossed over the other, and his eyes scanned the pages of the book in front of him, clearly immersed in whatever fictional world was being described. Though, when Steven began to cough again, he looked up. Waiting until the coughing fit was finished, he said, “You’re awake. Lovely.” A false smile was on his lips.

 

Loki uncrossed his legs and strode easily across the room. Steven, for his part, made an effort to at least sit up, not wanting to be lying down while the other man was standing, but Loki put a hand on his shoulder, holding him down with just the slightest bit of pressure. 

 

“Oh no, let’s not drain your strength.” He said, a light smirk on his face, then he moved back a few paces so that Steven could look him in the eye. In the groggy state of mind, he was in, Steven registered there was something off in the outskirts of his vision, but couldn’t place his finger on what before he broke out into a coughing fit. It was relatively short, compared to his others, and Loki waited until he was done to continue. 

 

“I was in town today, perusing the library’s selection of books while the two barbarians were on a hunting trip,” he held up the book he had been reading, “I heard an interesting announcement in the Town Square.” The smirk on his face was unmistakably one of mischief and vile intentions. Steven coughed again, barely holding his eyes open and trying to find the thing that was askew. “King Alexander has passed, and Prince James has been crowned,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He has already issued his first proclamation. Yes, quick, I know-” Steven broke out into a coughing fit, it lasted several minutes, and he brought his hands down to cradle his stomach.

 

Loki held a glass of water to his lips. “I wouldn’t want you choking before we’re done.” Steven sipped, the coughing finally subsiding.  _ If I were to choke, it would’ve happened far before now _ , Steven briefly thought. “Do you recall the blonde boy Thor and I told you about following the ball? The one who stole the prince’s attention and ruined the ball? He’s been summoned to the palace. The king plans to  _ marry  _ him.”

 

Steven’s stomach seemed to drop and do a somersault at the same time. His groggy mind tried to make sense of what was just said. Bucky wanted to marry him.  Some of the internal shocks must’ve registered on Steven’s face because a wicked grin spread across Loki’s features and he knelt to be face level with Steve.  

 

“I thought nothing of it, even when they mentioned a singular white glove. That is, until, they mentioned the name of this ‘ _ mystery bachelor. _ ’ Granted, Steven is a fairly traditional and everyday name; I had to confirm at least or deny my suspicions.” 

 

It then clicked in Steven’s brain. One floor board was out of place; the one he kept his box under. “Low and behold, I found this in that secret stash of yours,” Loki said, sneering. He held up Steven’s glove right in front of his face.

 

Steven wanted to reach out and grab the glove, escape to the palace, and he would’ve if he had the strength. He did not protest, nor did he try to reach out as Loki chuckled darkly in front of him. “I don’t know how you acquired this, or how you got to the ball, or how you managed such  _ fancy  _ attire, nor do I care.”  

 

Steven did not understand why his step-brother was here. If he didn’t wish for him to be reunited with the prince turned king, then why not just let him die? “I do have a proposal for you, Steven.” He paused for what could only be assumed to be dramatic effect. “I wish to be married to a princess of another realm. Kindly, I will not infringe upon your  _ lover’s  _ throne, but I still wish to rule a kingdom.  _ If  _ and only if you can guarantee that this will happen when you are a, dare I say it, king, will I assist and allow you to be presented at the Palace.” 

 

Steven stared at Loki in disbelief for a few moments before another coughing fit consumed him, this one worse than the last. He hacked, but nothing came of it. He wheezed, but he was not able to get air. “Take your time.” Steven heard Loki say sarcastically through the ringing in his ears. 

The fit of coughing left Steven weak, but he still gathered all the strength remaining in him. 

 

“No.” 

 

“No?” Loki quirked an eyebrow and lightly scoffed. 

 

Propping himself up on one shaky elbow, Steven continued. “No. Can’t let you win.” 

 

The older stepbrother scoffed, “There’s no way for me not to. Only for you to lose.” 

 

Steven shook his head. “I won’t help you.” 

 

Loki stood back up, pushing himself angrily from his knees, “ _ Fine _ ,” he said, “I’ll do it myself.” 

 

He turned on his heal, shoving the glove in his pocket. Before he reached for the doorknob, he turned and glared at Steven. “Just remember the  _ hope  _ you had.” 

 

It took all of the energy and effort within Steven to stay propped on his elbow until Loki left. When the door slammed with his stepbrother behind it, he collapsed onto his pillow, and when he heard the harsh click of the lock. He closed his eyes, utterly defeated. 

 

♕

 

Loki sat with his legs crossed, reclining in the comfy chair he had been shown. He wasn’t exactly sure what room he was in as the palace walls were all very confusing, but it was well decorated and furnished. Its purpose seemed to be for meetings. 

 

It took a minute for the grand duke to enter, but Loki respectfully rose when he entered, bowing his head. 

 

“Please, sit,” he said, Loki sat back down in the same position he was in previously. “What was so important that it required my attention so immediately?” The grand duke said, feet on the table and fingers tented beneath his chin. 

 

Loki smirked and sat up, pulling the glove from his pocket as he did so. He presented it on the table. “I’m sure if you examine it, you’ll see that you have its twin.”

The duke sat up, plucking the glove off the table and observing it closer. “Where did you acquire this?” 

 

“From a sickly servant boy in my house.” 

 

“Have you told anyone else?” The grand duke raised an eyebrow. 

 

A puff of air escaped Loki’s chest; it could’ve been mistaken for a laugh. “Not a soul, everyone else in my household is away on a hunting trip.” 

 

The duke sighed. “You’ve spared the kingdom a great deal of embarrassment.”  

 

An evil grin spread across Loki’s features “I’d like to keep it that way, grand duke.”

 

“Are you threatening me?” Rumlow scoffed, eyebrows furrowing. 

 

“Yes,” Loki said, maintaining a straight face for only a few moments before beginning to laugh. 

 

The grand duke joined him, his resolve breaking. 

 

“What do you want?” The duke asked once he collected himself.

 

Loki pretended to think as if he did not already have his demands planned out.“I should like to be a lord, outside of the kingdom, preferably. I wish to be away from my wretched family.”

 

“Easily done. What about the boy?”

 

“Oh him? Do with him what you will. He’s of no importance. In fact, I believe he won’t make it past this bout of illness.” Loki snickered. 

 

♕

 

At first, Bucky was (relatively) calm, patiently awaiting word that his lover had arrived at the palace, but as days turned into weeks, the newly crowned king became restless. Nearly every hour, he’d seek out the grand duke, asking if any word had been heard of Steven, or simply ask the guards himself. Every time the answer was the same,  _ ‘Not a word of news, your Royal Highness. _ ’

 

That is until Rumlow approached him in his study where he was speaking with Sam, with something in hand. 

 

“Your  _ majesty _ ,” He began with his usual amount of indignance. “This was found, abandoned by the side of the road.” The grand duke handed a satin glove to the prince. It was covered in dirt, but it’s original color was still obviously white. Bucky’s eyes widened, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out the glove Steven left behind. It was indeed a match; his shoulders slumped slightly.  

 

Rumlow stood where he was, straightening his posture, while Sam looked from him to Bucky. It did not take long for him to catch on. “Perhaps he has been prevented from speaking, don’t lose hope, Buck-” He clapped his hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

 

“You should do the exact opposite of that, James. Lose hope, gain wisdom. This charade of yours has gone on for  _ far  _ too long. If the king has a  _ wife _ , then there shall be an heir. Our people want to face the future with certainty.” The duke’s stance widened, and he glared at the captain of the 

guard intensely. 

 

“It is certain that  _ I  _ am king, grand duke. Not Alexander, nor you. I want to seek out Steven, even if he does not wish to be found, I must see him again.” 

 

“And if he’s not found?” 

 

Bucky paused. The answer was obvious; he just didn’t want to say it out loud. Sighing out, he ran his hand through his hair, defeatedly. “Fine, fine. If we do not find Steven, I will find a bride, but you will spare no effort in your search.” 

 

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Rumlow said, standing and bowing, before turning around and walking out of the Prince’s private study. What Bucky and Sam did not see, though, was the smirk, plastered blatantly on the duke’s face.  

 

♕

 

He kept his promise and spared no effort in searching the kingdom, high and low. With the described the prince, he joined the royal guard in going door to door. The bachelors that even somewhat resembled the description tried on the glove; it was such a small size that it was certain to only fit a small portion of male hands. 

 

Sam and the royal guard accompanied the grand duke, of course. Not only for protection, but also by Bucky’s request, to keep an eye on Rumlow. It took days to comb through the entirety of the town and with every passing day, the chances of finding the king’s mystery lover were becoming slimmer and slimmer. 

 

It was around the fourth day Sam began to notice his friend's shoulders slouching. The search party had already visited the houses nearest to the castle and the main part of town, leaving only a small portion of houses and farms on the outskirts of the small kingdom; five, at the most. 

Sam, riding behind Rumlow at the front of the group, sighed deeply. “What’s wrong now, 

Captain?” The grand duke asked. 

 

“I’m disappointed for Bucky.” He mistakenly called the king by his nickname, which he never did around anyone besides Bucky himself. 

 

Rumlow rolled his eyes and smirked. “Honestly, Captain. You think that the king won’t forget about the peasant in a few short weeks? Naive. And that’s only  _ if  _  we find him.” 

 

Sam glared at the duke, but didn’t say anything and also resisted the urge to glance at one of the guards behind him. The next three estates the party visited had no men under the age of 40, and after a quick search confirmed such a fact, the royal guard moved on. 

 

Finally, they approached the last house. Large, mostly brick, and forest green tiled roof, the meadow surrounding it made it look like a small oasis. As they rode onto the driveway, Sam and Rumlow got off their horses and approached the midnight blue front door, but before they could knock, it opened. Revealing a man, Sam guessed it was the head of the house, judging by his age. 

 

“Welcome, gentlemen.” The man, said, bowing slightly, “I’m Lord Odin, this is my household.”

“Lord Odin,” the duke spoke, “I am the grand duke, and this is the captain of the guard. We have come by decree of the king in search of a young man named Steven, who if found is told to report to the palace immediately.” 

 

Odin’s eyes widened slightly, but he kept his reaction barely noticeable, but Sam still took notice. “Oh, well the only other two residence aside from myself are my two sons, Loki and Thor.” He paused, Sam raised his eyebrow. From behind Rumlow, he could not see his reactions, but he 

 

was becoming suspicious. 

 

“May we come in and meet these sons of yours, Lord Odin?” The duke asked.

He smiled, “Of course, grand duke,” he said stepping out of the way and gestured into the foyer. 

 

“Please. Come in.” 

 

Sam followed Rumlow in, removing his hat as he did so. Odin disappeared around the corner, and in a moment, he returned with two men, who looked as if they were complete opposites. They both bowed as their father introduced them. 

 

As Sam examined them both, he quickly realized that even the blonde one would not fit the glove the mystery bachelor had left behind. He looked back to the grand duke, who had locked eyes with the younger son, Loki, exchanging knowing looks; he smirked.

 

Sam did not follow Rumlow, instead grabbing his arm, halting him. “Shouldn’t we search the house, grand duke?” 

 

Rumlow jerked his arm away from the grip. “I trust the man, Captain.” 

 

He nodded his head toward Odin and his sons and began to follow the grand duke out the front door. Rumlow chuckled lightly as he began mounting his horse. “See Samuel? True love apparently doesn’t ex-”

 

Samuel interrupted him. “Do you hear that?” Faintly-- incredibly faintly-- Sam heard someone cough violently. His gaze followed the sound, and it led him up to a window high on the house. It was small and barely cracked. He noticed Odin, closing the door, and addressed him. “Are you sure you do not have anyone else in the house, Lord Odin?” 

 

The other man opened the door again, “Of course, Captain.”

 

Sam scowled. “Who is coughing, then? Both of your sons seemed to be in good health.” 

 

Odin paused, and out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Rumlow pull his shoulders back. 

 

“Thor has been feeling under the weather.” Odin covered. 

 

Sam turned to the grand duke in a last-ditch effort. “He’s hiding something-” 

 

Rumlow scoffed,  glaring daggers at the captain. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Honestly, Samuel. How desperate are you to find this person for him?” He paused. “We’re leaving. Now.” 

 

As he went to turn toward his horse to mount it, he saw one of the guards remove their helmet. 

 

♕

 

King James was not an idiot, as Rumlow may have thought he was. He anticipated the betrayal of the grand duke far before it had happened, which is why he decided to accompany the search party in the uniform of the royal guard, to go unnoticed by the duke. He told Sam, of course, which is why the captain had been avoiding making eye contact for the majority of the search, though they did share a few knowing looks. 

 

Bucky was beginning to believe his suspicions false when they arrived at the last estate in the kingdom. The duke had been very thorough until-

 

Sam did not follow Rumlow, instead grabbing his arm, halting him. “Shouldn’t we search the house, grand duke?” 

 

Rumlow jerked his arm away from the grip. “I trust the man, Captain.” 

 

Bucky saw Sam nod his head, reluctant but still respectfully toward the Lord and his sons. He hesitated to get off his horse and say something to the grand duke, but he waited, and he would wait until the moment they were about to leave.

 

Rumlow was beginning to mount his horse, and still blabbering when Bucky heard it, and by the look on Sam’s face, he heard it too. “Do you hear that?” Sam interrupted. It was a cough, a violent, sick one. Sam turned to Odin, who was just closing the door. “Are you sure you do not have anyone else in the house, Lord Odin?” 

 

Odin stared at him for a moment. “Of course, Captain.”

 

Sam scowled. “Who is coughing, then? Both of your sons seemed to be in good health.” 

 

Odin paused, Rumlow pulled his shoulders back. 

  
  


“Thor has been feeling under the whether.” Odin covered. 

 

Sam turned to the grand duke in a last-ditch effort. “He’s hiding something-” 

 

Rumlow scoffed,  glaring daggers at the captain. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Honestly, Samuel. How  _ desperate  _ are you to find this person for him?” He paused. “We’re leaving. Now.” 

 

Bucky now had more than enough reason to reveal himself. He removed his hat, clearing his throat. “Grand duke.” He stated simply. 

 

Rumlow looked over, and his eyes widened a fraction. “Your majesty.” 

 

Odin breathed in sharply, caught off guard, and leaned down in a deep bow. “Your majesty.” 

 

Bucky ignored both of them and smiled at his friend, dismounting his horse. “Captain. Care to check on that with me?”

 

“It would be my pleasure, your majesty.” Sam smiled and smirked at the defeated looking 

Rumlow as he joined him on the way into the house.

 

Bucky walked beside his friend. As they entered the home, he took notice of the intricate carvings on the entry door, but knew if Steven was here, it had to be him; the thought made his heart warm. One of the sons showed both he and Sam up a secluded stairwell. 

 

They climbed at least two stories of creaking, wooden stairs in a drafty stairwell to reach a door. It was painted with faded red, obviously not the correct paint for that purpose. Small designs were added in black paint, more intricate than the ones on the front door. 

 

The same hacking type cough could be heard from behind the door that both Bucky and Sam heard from downstairs. With Sam behind him, he slowly pushed the door open. Inside wasn’t much. The floors were just as worn and rotting as the stairs they had just walked, and there was a chair, a bed, and a wardrobe. 

 

On the walls though, were drawings, that Bucky recognized to be in the same hand as Steven’s. Some were of a woman he did not recognize-- those were older, and in more abundance pushed to the back-- others were of the ball, or of  _ Bucky _ . They were all beautiful.

 

Finally, his gaze fell upon the small bed pushed toward the back of the room, there was someone curled up in a blanket up to his neck, but the blonde mess of hair made it unmistakeably Steven. Bucky rushed over, looking down at him. He was coughing, but Bucky placed his hand across his cheek like he did when they kissed. Slowly, Steven stopped coughing, and his eyes opened. The blue was glazed over with sickness and sadness, but they looked just as beautiful and gleaming as they did the night of the ball. 

Steven looked much thinner than Bucky remembered, his face hollowed and 

 

♕

 

Steven had awoken to the sounds of guests downstairs, though, he made no effort to move; no one would come to see him. He coughed, another deep, wheezing cough shaking his body. The stabbing pain in his lungs intensified to where he felt like he could faint, but that was a regular occurrence since fell ill. 

 

_ Find a point of focus _ , Steven’s mother had always told him. _ Focus on something blissful and happy. _ Take yourself away. When he did that now, images of the ball flashed through his brain. The moment Bucky placed a hand on the small of his back and the music began to play; when his lips met Bucky’s or when he first entered the ballroom, and locked eyes with the prince turned king. 

 

Which is why when his eyelids dragged themselves open, he thought the face above his was just a figment of his imagination. Kind brown eyes smiling down at him surrounded by the tanned skin and neatly cut expresso brown hair was something Steven hallucinated frequently. The hand caressing the side of his face was new, though. It was warm and inviting. 

“Steven?” The prince’s voice said; it sounded so real, concerned. “Steven. It’s me. It’s Bucky.” 

 

Steven squeezed his eyes shut, coughing again, his airways could be heard closing in the wheeze at the end of each spell. There was no use trying to cover it-- no one was really in the room with him-- but he leaned into the hand for comfort. It smelled as Bucky had the night of the ball. 

 

“Steve,” A thumb caressed his cheek. It all felt so real. “Please open your eyes. Can you do that?” He did. Steven opened his eyes because the prince’s-- the king’s-- voice rang so clearly through his ears. Bucky’s face was still there, and it lightened when he saw Steven’s eyes open. 

 

As weak as he was, Steven pulled his hand from the bed, reaching out to touch the face in front of him. “Bucky?”

 

The king’s larger hand met his half way, just as he was about to run out of strength, bringing it the rest of the way. Steven felt the small amount of rough stubble under his fingertips, the prince’s sharp jawline and the defined cheekbones. “Mhm. It’s me. I’m here.” Eyes heavy-lidded and breathing labored, Steven managed a small smile. “Couldn’t let you just slip away from me that easy,” the king chuckled, he wouldn’t deny there were tears in his eyes. 

 

Steven was closing to falling asleep again, the task of holding a conversation nearly too much; the smile faded from his face. Before he could though, Bucky began speaking. “Come back to the palace with me, Steven. The palace healers can treat you.” 

 

Without even thinking, Steven made a small shake of his head, “can’t.” He said simply, then began to cough again, gut wrenching. 

 

Bucky waited patiently, gently comforting Steven as his lungs struggled for air. When the blonde relaxed again, Bucky took his handkerchief and dabbed the sweat from his forehead. “Why not? I’ll move mountains if that’s what it takes.”

 

It took Steven a moment to find the response he was looking for, his thoughts blurry. “This is home. Can’t leave.” He finally managed. His family had lived there for generations before him, and it was his job to take care of it, not let it go to his wretched stepfamily. 

 

If possible, Bucky’s expression softened. “I’ll have it taken care of for you, darling. You can decide what you wish to do once you’ve healed, but  _ please _ ,” Bucky begged, “I cannot return to the palace knowing I’ve left you here to die. You can return here later, I will not force you to stay, but please come back to the place where you can be treated. I beg you.” 

 

Through Steven’s heavy-lidded gaze, he could barely see the tears spilling from the corners, and the puppy eyes Bucky was giving him. He was going to die if he didn’t go with the king, but there was no way he could leave his stepfamily. He had an obligation, didn’t he? 

His head rolled over, looking toward the doorway of his bedroom-- the attic. Behind a man in uniform stood his stepfamily. Thor was scowling, eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. Odin had his arms crossed over his chest and averted his gaze from Steven, but the look on his face was evident; annoyance and vexation. Loki? Fire burned through his emerald green eyes, and his chin was held high as he looked at Steven and the king down his nose. 

 

Steven looked back to Bucky. His eyes glazed with tears and concern; he saw more compassion on his face than he had ever seen on the faces Loki, Thor or Odin. “Please,” Bucky pleaded again. Steven did not sense false truth in the statement Bucky made about not forcing him to stay, and perhaps he could make a better decision when-- if-- he healed. 

Bearily, Steven nodded. “Yes.” 

 

The physical effort and emotional energy it took to have that conversation must’ve been far too much for him, because the last thing he felt was Bucky wrapping his arms under him, and lift him from his bed before the world went black around him.


End file.
